Free The Third-Class Genie by Robert Leeson Page A

dematerialize somewhere and then materialize somewhere else? Like a genie does, I mean.”
    “Well, if you could break things down into their atoms and then reassemble them. It’s a theoretical possibility, but a practical impossibility, I should have thought.”
    “The-o-retical?”
    “I mean, you can work it out in your mind, how it might be done, but the problems involved in doing it are too great. Now the old alchemists thought you could transform lead into gold. You might be inclined to laugh at them, but that would be wrong because we know that the atomic weight of lead and gold are close to one another. In theory one could vary the structure of one so it changed into the other.”
    “What are we waiting for then, sir?”
    Mr Jameson laughed. “Because it would cost more time, money and effort than the gold would be worth. Anyway, lead is very useful and valuable. If you worked in an atomic reactor a lead shield would be a million times more valuable than a gold one.”
    “But the alchemists were right?”
    “Oh, yes. The man who imagined a flying horse was right and so was the man who imagined a magic mirror that could see what other people were doing.”
    “Oh, that’s what Abu said…” Alec broke in excitedly.
    “Abu? Who’s he? Which year is he in?”
    “Oh, nothing, sir.” Alec was confused. “Thanks very-much, sir, anyway. I’ve never understood things as well before.”
    “You’ve never asked such searching questions before.”
    Alec was about to go when he was called back by one of the Year Twelves who lived on the estate.
    “Alec. D’you think your granddad would like a drop of our jungle juice?”
    “Jungle juice. What’s that?”
    “Oh, it’s just something we’re brewing up here.” He lowered his voice. “The powers that be are not supposed to know.”
    Across the lab, Alec thought he saw Mr Jameson’s shoulders begin to shake.
    “We’ll find a bottle for you,” said the Year Twelve lad. “Wait a bit, though. Is that an empty can you’ve got in your pocket there?”
    “Er…” said Alec.
    “Come on, give. That’s better than a bottle. We’ll seal it with sticking plaster and you can take it home to the old man with our best wishes.”
    Not knowing how to refuse, Alec handed over his can. It was filled, sealed and handed back to him.
    “Hurry up, lads, lessons start in thirty seconds flat,” said Mr Jameson.
    Alec left the lab. He could feel the liquid swishing in the can in his pocket. If he could nip into one of the washrooms and tip it out…
    “That’s the wrong way for English, Alec.”
    He looked up in dismay. Miss Welch, grinning cheerfully, stood in his path. Reluctantly he was steered into the classroom. Seated at his desk and keeping one eye on Miss Welch who was writing on the board, Alec quietly tried to scrape the sticking plaster off the top of the can.
    “What
are
you doing back there, Alec?” Miss Welch was looking at him. Alec slipped the can on to the floor. Perhaps if he allowed the can to lie on its side the liquid would seep out. “Miss,” squeaked Alice Rogers, “Alec Bowden’s wetting the floor.”
    Miss Welch steamed over from the front of the room and Alec slipped the can back into his pocket. It was upside down though and he could feel the liquid slowly draining out. If Miss Welch would only look away, he could slip the can into his school bag. But the wet patch on his trousers was uncomfortable, as well as embarrassing.
    Miss Welch sniffed. “Peculiar smell in this room. Like essence of burnt rubber.”
    She went back to the board and finished her writing.
    “Right, you lot. Answer those questions. I’m out for twenty minutes. But don’t get any ideas. Mr Cartwright has promised to keep his eyes on you.” She went out and after the first burst of noisy whispering the class was silent, save for the occasional mutter or cough. Alec waited five minutes and then slipped out through the door. A few yards down the corridor he was