Ultimate Justice (29 page)

The rest of the plan worked well. When only male crew members appeared in the first batches they played into the computer programmers' hands. They simply retained the grouping of dots in the restricted area. It looked convincing. The commander struck the desk with his fist and uttered an expletive that the translation program couldn't translate, but it didn't need to. The female Sponrons were conveyed to the spacedrome. The shuttle returned to the space-craft with a team from Joh, including women (to make a point), and inspected the Talifinbolindit for others. They found only one officer whom they bundled aboard the shuttle before replacing the couplings in the intrahelical drive control panels.

In the end, the commander and two officers were relieved to be allowed to return to the ship and within minutes it had disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. It was a matter of speculation just how long the three of them could live together with nowhere to go that would accept them within less than ten years worth of travel, without going mad.

***

Later when the three young people met together with Rob and some of the others, Shaun commented that he felt for them.

“I do too,” said Prof Rob, “but I do not feel any guilt. If they had chosen to, the three officers could have asked to stay here too, and if they were to reappear now we would still grant them entry. Of course, they would be tried for murder, abduction, rape and theft, but prison here on Joh in the open air under our blue skies would be infinitely preferable to being cooped up in that ship, no matter how state of the art, with two other corrupt individuals.

***

The captive Sponrons were overjoyed to be on Joh. The clean air, the colour, the sound of the birds, and the fresh smell of the planet was amazing. They just stood, gazed and breathed.

None of them knew how they were related to the other members of their group except they had all grown up together in an orphanage. It would take months, if not years, perhaps never fully, for them to recover from their ordeal. But they knew what love meant, and they knew what hate was. They respected goodness and were determined to live lives different from that which their captors had imposed on them. Contact was eventually made with their home planet, Ramal, but it was in the neighbouring system of Medlam and would take at least sixteen years for a craft, even with an intrahelical engine, to reach Joh from there. And, of course, Joh did not own such a craft herself. Besides none of them wanted to enter another spacecraft in their lives. Provision was made for them in a hostel on the edge of town where they were given language lessons and training; they rarely went far. Kakko, Tam, Shaun and Bandi paid them regular visits and took them out for walks.

It was on one such walk, several months after the departure of the Talifinbolindit, that Kakko spotted a white gate. They all saw it, including the Sponrons. Kakko gave a quick explanation and assured them all would be OK.

“It's cool,” she said, “we always get looked after. We don't need to be afraid. It's an adventure.”

The Sponrons were doubtful about any kind of adventure but egged on by Kakko and without any opposition from the boys, who had no reason to doubt there was purpose in the white gate appearing, one by one they stepped through it. Kakko and Tam first (who was determined not to let Kakko act precipitously!) and the two brothers last after the Sponrons. They found themselves standing on a wooded hillside beside a road.

“Any idea where we are?” asked Kakko.

“No,” said Shaun. “Could be anywhere.”

They walked a few metres down the road and rounded a bend.

“A sign board,” declared Kakko. “Not in any language I know!”

“It's Sponron. This our language,” declared One. “It says Par, ten jaks, and Kat, fifteen jaks. It's Ramal! We're back on our planet! How can this be?”

“The wonder of the portals. You have been brought here!” said Kakko.

The party were all leaping in joyful abandon when a bus rounded the bend. It pulled to a halt unable to pass them.

“What's this all about?” mumbled the bus driver. An elderly passenger in a front seat stared at the group. They might be older, but they were definitely the children she had looked after for many years in the orphanage. They were the right age.

“I know them!” she exclaimed. “Wait.”

She got down from the bus and began to call their names.

“Mrs Fan! Mrs Fan!” they all surrounded her.

“What are you doing here?”

“We've just arrived. It's a long story,” said One. “Come. You must meet our friends, they rescued us.”

Mrs Fan was introduced to the four from Joh.

“So where are you going?” asked Mrs Fan.

“We do not have anywhere to go. We've only just worked out where we are.”

“Then you come back with me. All of you.”

“Is anyone getting onto my bus? If not, clear the road!” demanded the driver.

“Bus!” they shouted like the children they had once been.

“Then get on,” ordered Mrs Fan, “I will mollify the driver.”

They went to mount the steps but then remembered their four friends. “You must come too.”

“No. You are home, our job is done,” said Tam decisively. “You go ahead with your lady. Our families will miss us if we don't return. We will try and stay in touch through the Interplanetnet somehow.” The Sponrons all took it in turns to embrace them as they mounted the bus. And then it started up, descended the hill, rounded the bend and was gone. A minute later all that Kakko, Tam, Shaun and Bandi could hear was the sound of the wind in the trees and the hum of insects.

“Job well done,” voiced Kakko quietly.

“Is that a compliment to Tam and me for our work on the Tal?” asked Shaun.

“It is indeed, you did remarkably well considering you did not have a woman around!”

“We did, didn't we? I guess you were praying, though,” said Tam.

“I was,” said Kakko. “That must be the answer then!” They all laughed.

“Imagine a planet without females,” said Bandi. “It would definitely be different.”

“Imagine a universe without God,” said Tam. “That would be worse. And those Sponron officers have neither now.”

“They don't have to be without God, though,” said Bandi.

“Let's hope they find him,” said Shaun. “I guess it won't be in a hurry though.”

“They will, one day, when they leave this dimension. I believe God will take us all to himself whoever we are, wherever we might be, and whatever we've done,” said Tam with conviction.

“Do you think so?” asked Kakko as they walked back up to the place where they had entered through the white gate. “How can you be sure of that? I can't see how God can take you into heaven if you are not good.”

“I've thought about that. The trouble is, like Pastor Ruk said, there is some bad in all of us. We might not be really wicked but we're all a bit flawed, aren't we?”

“Speak for yourself,” said Kakko.

“I do. And
you too
, Kakko. Even though I love you, I know that even you are a teeny bit flawed…”

“Definitely,” laughed Shaun.

“Watch out!” yelled Bandi as Kakko swung an arm at her brother. “No violence allowed in heaven!”

“I see it's mended then,” smiled Tam.

“What!” sputtered Kakko.

“Your arm. It's back to normal!” And then Kakko realised that she hadn't thought about it for the first time since the cliff, and felt good.

“So,” Tam resumed, “if we aren't perfect, we won't measure up to heaven either. God has got to do some work on all of us – it'll just take a bit more work on those deceiving Sponron officers.”

“You're assuming they will let Her,” said Kakko.

“Yeah. God won't force Herself on them against their will. They could always opt out of heaven …”

“I wonder what it is like in the next world? What Grandma is experiencing, or those unfortunate Thenits. Do you think dying feels like stepping through a white gate that accepts only your spirit?” wondered Kakko.

“For some people, perhaps. For others it might not be so nice. Who knows?” answered Shaun.

“But when you get there it has to be good, really good – better than in this universe,” said Tam. “Because if it wasn't it wouldn't be just. Our next stop beyond this universe, whatever it is, has to be a step nearer to ultimate justice.”

“How can you be sure there is a heaven anywhere?” asked Kakko.

“If there is a just God, there has to be,” replied Tam. “Otherwise God will not be true to Herself. If God is just, there has to be somewhere where the oppressed are set free, somewhere where wrongs can be righted, painful sacrifice rewarded – something for those poor Thenits for example.”

“And I know God exists from all the other things She does for us,” stated Kakko confidently. “So, therefore, heaven exists…”

“That's the logic – it all depends on whether you believe in the existence of a just and loving Creator God in the first place,” said Tam.

“You're not bad at this sort of thinking,” observed Bandi. “That makes sense. It fits with what we already know of God through our own experience – ours and those who have gone before us. ”

“Next year I think I am going to combine theology with my law studies,” said Tam, “Justice is more than law. Law is a tool – an important tool – but in itself it doesn't tell you what is right or wrong, good or bad. There
is
a universal justice. I mean those Sponrons had never been to Joh or any of the planets peopled by human beings, nor do they share any of our DNA, but they know what is right and what is wrong – their sense of justice is no different from ours.”

“It's all to do with love,” said Bandi.

“Yes,” said Shaun, “and that comes from God. God has given us the gift of love. She is just. I want to learn more about Her and what She has revealed to us about the universe and ultimate justice. Our human law is OK, but it is only a human attempt at codifying what we sense to be just.”

“So it's all common-sense after all?” said Kakko.

“Yes. It's all based on a common sense of justice,” said Tam, “but in practice it can get complicated when one person's interpretation of common sense is not the same as another's – so we need to write it down and work from precedence. But you're right, law should always try to interpret universal justice.”

***

They found the white gate where they had entered the Sponron world and within a very short time were sitting in the kitchen at White Gates Cottage eating Matilda's cake. Life was good.

“You know, we are so privileged to live here,” said Kakko.

“I know,” agreed Tam. “And what makes it even more special is that I've got you for my girlfriend. I
did
miss you on that shuttle. Honest.”

“We need each other,” smiled Kakko.

“You two are so lucky,” remarked Bandi.

“Oh. There'll be someone for you too,” assured Kakko.

“Duh! I didn't mean that! What would I do with a girlfriend? I'm quite happy as I am thank you!”

***

Decades later, the Talifinbolindit was found drifting in outer-space. Its cargo was intact and taken on to its original destination. It was empty of life – abandoned by its crew, who in their pain had probably elected to join their victims in the void of space. They may have thought that at least there, there was a kind of freedom perhaps, or maybe a dimension for the soul. They may even have become aware of the presence of God. There was no telling.

When Matilda noticed the new gate in the garden she was not so surprised. After years of stability, life had now become more of a roller-coaster ride. She didn't quite know how to break it to Jalli as she entered the cottage.

“Oh hi, Nan. How's Ada?”

“Oh, she's good. Jalli… there's a… a new gate.”

“What? Let me see.”

She looked out the window, then went into the garden. No white gate. “Not for me, Nan,” she said and then called the children. Bandi spotted it straight away, but not Shaun and Kakko.

“It's not fair!” lamented Kakko.

“Oh. Kakko,” sighed her mother.

Kakko heard herself through her mother's ears. “Sorry, I guess I'm acting like a spoiled kid. But why Bandi and not Shaun and me?”

“Maybe the Creator has got something else for you here,” suggested Jalli.

Then Jack came in looking for his lunch. “A new gate!” he declared.

“Yes,” said Jalli, “for your mum, Bandi and it seems you too.”

“Just the three of us?”

“We'll manage,” smiled Jalli. “But you'd better get yourself sorted. Your mum and Bandi are ready. Nan reckons it's Persham. She has found a reservation for the Red Lion Hotel there, some British banknotes and wet weather stuff including an umbrella!”

“Right …” whistled Jack. “I wonder how long for?”

“The reservation is for four nights.”

“Right,” said Jack again. “That long?”

***

When they stepped through the gate it was raining – on the Persham side that is. The season in Persham was early autumn and the yellowing horse-chestnut leaves of the park hung heavy with raindrops. As they descended the hill, the cars splashed along, spraying muddy water onto the pavements. Jack was glad that the Red Lion Hotel was on their side of the town. When they arrived, Matilda held open the narrow doors as Jack and Bandi staggered through with their luggage. They were greeted by warmth, and the beer-scented conviviality of the bar on their left. There was a small reception desk in front of them behind which sat a young woman in a tight, black blouse to which she had attached a shiny brass badge declaring to the world that she was called Angie.

“Hi,” Angie grunted still beating the keyboard of a desktop computer.

“We have a reservation,” said Matilda as she pushed the paper across the desk. The girl forced herself back into the real world – her Facebook friends would have to wait for the moment – and scrutinised the sheet.

“That's fine,” she said. “You're foreign are yah?”

“From Persham,” stated Matilda with dignified authority, “back for a few days… to see friends.”

“That's great. You have two rooms for four nights on the second floor. No lift I'm afraid.”

“'Course not,” said Matilda curtly. “I can manage stairs without difficulty.”

“But could you carry my mother's case for her?” asked Jack politely. “As I can't see, I need to keep one hand free.”

“Yeah, sure,” sighed the girl without conviction as she reluctantly tore herself away from the monitor.

***

The rooms were comfortable and old world. The Red Lion had once been a coaching inn and Jack wondered how many countless thousands had slept in his particular room down the centuries. It was Saturday. The three held a mini-conference about their next move and they decided that, as the rain had stopped, they would go for a walk around where Jack and his mother used to live, and see what had happened to the house. Then they would go on to the parish church and check what time the service was the following morning. They would make a beginning there, unless anything else came up.

***

As they turned into Renson Park Road, Matilda was immediately struck by the size of the trees that lined the pavement. When they had first moved in nearly four decades before, they were all so small. By the time they had left for Woodglade they were certainly growing but, now, more than twenty years on, they were majestic. The whole street was dominated by them, but the really impressive thing was that the one outside number 68, where she and Jack had lived for nearly fifteen years, had also grown tall. It was still a little behind the others but was otherwise indistinguishable from them.

“Well, look at that!” exclaimed Matilda. “Our tree, it's huge!” She guided Jack so that he could place his hands on its trunk. Jack shuddered as the memories flooded back. He encircled it. “Well, that has come on! How tall is it?”

“Nearly as high as the house!” declared his mother. “It really struggled when we were here. It was always in the wars. Seemed to keep getting broken. The vandals were always at it,” she said with a gentle irony – an irony Jack pretended not to notice.

“Did you ever see them?” he asked. Matilda answered that she hadn't; which was true. She was out when her son had demolished it for the final time that day in the rain – when he had vented all his anger and heartbreak on it as he despaired of ever seeing his beloved Jalli again. He remembered all that stupidity – and he was once again filled with gratitude that his mum had had the courage to arrange for the elderly Mr Evans to call. That had been the turning point between despair and the joy of his setting off to begin again with Jalli. It was good to know that his mistreatment had not prevented the tree from coming back and being almost as high as the house. Jack placed his hand on the bark as high as he could reach and whispered, “OK, you win.”

“What you say, Dad?” asked Bandi.

“Oh. Nothing. Just talking to the tree.” Bandi shook his head. Kakko was always saying their parents were a couple of tree-huggers.

The front of the house was also transformed. It had received a make-over from caring owners. The garden was a picture – all the old rubbish had gone. There was a border of bedding dahlias and fuchsias surrounding a carefully cropped little square of grass. All the former ill-fitting wooden-framed casement windows had been replaced with contemporary, white, PVC double-glazing units. The front door matched them. Below a semicircular piece of double-glazed stained glass were the figures “6” and “8” in carefully polished brass. Through the front window they could see the outlines of some high-class furniture and a standard lamp behind heavy, deep red velvet curtains. Matilda described what she saw to Jack.

“Better off than we were, then?”

“The whole street's different. It's quite grand. They've got some expensive cars parked outside and there are two skips further down where they are doing up another place.”

Just then a young woman with two small children emerged from number 70 and saw the trio standing and studying.

“Can I help you?” she asked in an educated accent that was not Persham. “Sky come here. You know what I told you about the road – stay with Willow! Er, sorry they are quite full of autumn spirit.”

“No, that's alright,” replied Matilda, in her best posh English voice. “We used to live here at number 68 and were interested in how things were coming on.”

“Oh. Your old house is in good hands,” smiled the young woman. “They are excellent neighbours… Sky! Put down those leaves. You'll mess up all your clothes. Sorry, must move on…” She forced a smile and charged after the child, beating bits of tree off the little girl's front.

Bandi laughed and imitated his nan's posh voice, “We used to live here…”

“Bandi,” scolded his father. “That's rude!”

“Why can't they call their kids by honest-to-goodness Christian names these days? Willow and Sky! I ask you,” remarked Matilda, ignoring her grandson.

“What, like Kakko and Bandi?” laughed Jack.

“Well that's different. You don't live in Britain.”

“We'd have called them the same wherever we had lived,” said Jack.

“You know what I mean!” said his mother, a bit peeved. “With names like that they're not likely to be churchgoing are they? They're not Christian names.”

“Oh, I don't know. It doesn't follow. Names go in fashion. In generations when lots of people went to church they still called their children by names that weren't in the bible – Amy, Louise, Charles and William. Wasn't your mother's family all flowers: Violet, May, and Daisy?” Matilda shrugged.

“It's gentrification. That's what it is,” mused Bandi thoughtfully.

“What's
gentrification
?” Matilda wanted to know. “That's a big word.”

“I did it in geography last year. What's happened here to this street. Streets near the centre of towns become popular with yuppies who are not so interested in large gardens and garages. Small houses get done up and sell for much higher prices while the original occupiers end up moving away further out of town…”

“Where they have to spend a fortune on bus fares!” broke in Matilda.

“You've read the same geography book?” asked Bandi.

“Didn't need to. I've seen it happen.”

“So we moved at the right time,” observed Jack.

“
We
did. But I bet there are lots I grew up with who are not so lucky. Come on, let's go on down to the church.”

They walked to the end of the street, past more evidence of gentrification, but the church building didn't seem to have changed any. St Augustine's, Persham, still looked the same as it had done when it had been built in Victorian times – at least from the outside. On the inside, however, it had been transformed twice since its birth. Once in the period just before the First World War when much of the Tractarian statuary and ornamentation was replaced with vast quantities of carved woodwork, including a chancel screen and a reredos all given in memory of some wealthy parishioner – his family desirous of making a splash. But then, in the minimalist early 1970s, these furnishings were mostly removed, despite a howl of protest from the descendants of the ‘named' and the threat of a consistory court. The interior of the church building had then become more open and user-friendly, but its reputation had suffered with the local people. The message of Jesus had been drowned out by the controversy over the building at the very time in history that it most needed to be heard, when the rise of popular secularism was undermining faith by calling it ‘unfounded superstition'. What the ordinary people saw was an unholy feuding about furniture, and that just confirmed what they were coming to believe anyway – that the Church was largely irrelevant in contemporary culture. The Church was chiefly about history and conservation. “Tradition” was becoming co-terminus with “living in a quaint period drama” which is nice at Christmastime and for weddings, but not in the rough and tumble of daily life.

“ The present vicar, however, was a person of vision and he and his congregation stuck to it. As well as opening up the space, the Christ-centred church-goers had also moved away from using the four hundred year old
Book of Common Prayer
for the main services. Slowly, the Church was beginning to relate the good news of Jesus to current needs and take notice of the prevailing postmodernism. St Augustine's was making a come-back. In the little garden in front of the church there now stood a giant notice-board proclaiming in large letters:

MESSY CHURCH

Every Saturday between 2 pm and 4 pm.

For children, families and those who have never

quite grown-up.

No-one is ever too young or too old for Messy Church!

The time was now just after two o'clock on a Saturday and there was a wondrous noise from inside, a cacophony of sound. Those who had ‘not quite grown up' were mixing their voices with children of all ages running up and down. The chairs had been moved to one side and people sat, perched or stood around large, bright-blue plastic sheets, carpets and islands of newspaper, while the kids were all doing something different at the same time. There was painting, cutting out and sticking. Lively children were darting backwards and forwards to large boxes in the centre full of colourful bits of cloth, crepe paper, pipe-cleaners, sticky-back shapes, and a myriad of other attractions the kids could seize on to decorate their masterpieces. Even some of the adults were engaged in painting some kind of mural, while a few ladies huddled in a corner in a sewing-bee-come-knitting-circle with material off-cuts, cottons and wool. (Matilda learned later they were constructing a child-friendly, knitted Christmas crib.)

The three visitors from Joh moved around the edge of the activity but were soon caught up by a group of children demanding they admire their frieze.

“Hi!” It was the same young mother they had seen emerge from number 70. She seemed to be very relaxed in the gathering. (So calling her children Willow and Sky hadn't meant she was resistant to coming into the church after all!) “Pleased to see you again! Welcome. We're doing something for Harvest Festival.” Her Willow came up and seemed lost for the moment.

“What can I do, Mummy?”

“You can choose between making a frieze over here, help write a prayer (or drawing a picture for one) in the corner over there, or finding a song to sing, or just running around if you're not ready to concentrate – so long as you keep clear of the paint.” The little girl swung her arms across herself as she rocked in thought, eventually opting to hover around the singing group. She was quickly absorbed within it.

“Sorry. Nice to see you,” said the mother again.

“Well, actually, we had just come to see what time the service was tomorrow morning. Does this happen every Saturday?”

“Yes, but we vary the activities. Sometimes we are more chaotic than others but we do our best not to look the same as school. Free expression is important if people are to find real meaning in their lives.”

Jack was about to agree and suggest they move to the ‘prayer corner' when a very elderly gentleman came up to them.