The Spark (White Gates Adventures Book 4)

by Trevor Stubbs

“What’s wrong, Shaun. Are these aliens frightening?”

  “Frightening? Oh, no. They’re lovely. Friendly… No, it’s the security man who has disturbed me. I hate bossy men in uniforms. They think because they have official uniforms on, they can rule the universe.” Soldiers again!

  ***

  After a few weeks, the Zathians began to look increasingly well. Their blues and pinks were brighter and their eyes shone. Whatever the scientists had found to feed them on, it was good stuff for them.

  Translation was not left to Shaun alone. It was soon discovered that Kakko had the same gift. Jalli too. Kakko was released from her duties in the spacedrome for a time each day to translate and teach the aliens the Johian language. They were remarkably adept at picking it up – especially the written script. Kakko asked about the squares with the lines and curves of the Zathian but she could not begin to fathom how it worked, and quickly abandoned it. This was much to Bandi’s disappointment – he would have loved to have had a go but, being on Earth for much of the time, he didn’t volunteer himself. Kakko’s failure to grasp Zathian script gave her a lot of patience with them. She really respected them.

  The question of what should happen to two complete strangers with intellects as great as the most intelligent beings within contemporary Johian society was one that exercised the Johian authorities for a while. It was solved, however, by the Zathians themselves who understood the problem. It was one they had anticipated in their training in preparation for their cryogenic suspension. They wished to be housed in a place of learning where they could share their race’s accumulated knowledge with a science team. Their computers contained a large amount of data which they were able to extract and present to the Johian Faculty of Science and Technology. Johian computer science was to benefit enormously, as was Kakko’s space development department.

  The Zathian knowledge extended far beyond that of science, however. Their understanding of Zathian personal interaction and culture was not one that could be readily translated into Johian everyday life but on some points there was a very close correlation. Pastor Ruk was keen to ask them about spiritual matters. After several days in their company, he recorded what they described as the indestructible spark of the divine in the created universe. It is revealed through pure love – the complete self-giving of an individual to his or her fellows out of the deepest respect and honour, a respect that arises with the detection of the signature of the Creator within them. In this love, there is no vestige of self-interest. This is only possible because of their profound trust in the divine love and the promise of amazing realms that lay beyond all physical order or created dimensions.

  Sadly, however, in some parts of Johian society, the prevailing mood was one of fear rather than love. Opportunists who relished the opportunity to become leaders played on this. They were not willing to contemplate relinquishing any control or personal power, and preached a message of exclusion and hate. Pastor Ruk got a brick through his window after he preached a sermon on love as taught by the Zathians.

  “How can they do that?” despaired Kakko. “He talks of love and they hate him!”

  “That kind of love is far bigger than their small world,” explained Jack to his daughter. “They do not understand it. The other day at the school, I spoke to someone who is really scared of anything outside his immediate space. He was scared of going out at night.”

  “That was probably because he was blind,” volunteered Kakko.

  “No. He isn’t blind. He might feel safer if he were. This man is scared to go out at night because of the stars; looking into space scares him. It is a vast unknown. He doesn’t allow his family to go to space movies or read books with space in them. He only feels safe at night inside with his door shut.”

  “What about the loads of stuff you can’t see because they’re too small? I mean, he’s shutting himself in with millions of microbes that are potentially far more hazardous than outer space.”

  “I know. I haven’t dared to tell him that, though.”

  “And don’t you go telling him that either, Kakko,” intervened Jalli. “He’ll blame us, the Sponrons and now the Zathians for introducing them.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. Microbes are everywhere in the universe.”

  “That’s correct. But he won’t believe you.”

  “Your mother’s right, Kakko. We are going to have to work very hard to overcome this climate of fear.”

  “Where will it all end?” sighed Kakko.

  “Those who believe in love and inclusion are growing stronger, too,” said Jalli. “A lot of people have responded and have written letters of support for Pastor Ruk. Some have asked him to organise the Zathians to teach their children.”

  “They’re right, aren’t they?” said Kakko. “About the indestructible spark, I mean.”

  “I have no doubt about it,” said Jack, “if my experience and that of your mother is anything to go by.”

  “And Grandma; she knew she was going to God’s realms. She knew she was going to meet your grandfather and your dad.”

  “She did,” said Jalli firmly. “And so shall we all in due time. For now, all we have to do is keep loving.”

  “No matter what.”

  “No matter what.”

  8

  It was July in Persham. Compared to other mothers she knew, Abby’s mum, Lynn, was aware that she was more than lucky. The young man her daughter had brought into their house was both sensible and a gentleman. She was pleased they had both signed up to go with a group led by her husband to Taizé in France – they would enjoy it and she would enjoy the space for a few days.

  Taizé, halfway between Paris and the Mediterranean, was in the middle of the French countryside. It was a community of religious brothers and sisters from a variety of Christian traditions that had begun being popular as a place of pilgrimage for young people in the 1960s. In the summer months, the community made large fields available for young people to camp in. They came from all over the planet.

  Bandi was looking forward to travelling around a bit. He may have crossed interplanetary frontiers but he had seen very little of Planet Earth, even though he lived there. Kakko was the one who had been to three of its continents, and she told of places very different from Persham. The prospect of travelling down to Kent and then taking a boat to France was intriguing. On the strength of having a British father, Bandi had managed to obtain British citizenship, so getting a passport did not present a problem.

  “You probably won’t need it to get into France,” explained Dave, “but they generally like to see them when we get back… I wouldn’t want to see you stranded…”

  “How’s the transport working out?” asked Lynn.

  “That’s settled,” said Dave. “I’ve procured the diocesan minibus.”

  “I’m glad after all that you went through to get licensed to drive it.”

  “It gets heavily booked in the summer but I got a cancellation. It means we don’t have to hire anything. We’ve got just fourteen people signed up, so the list’s closed.”

  ***

  Three weeks later, Bandi, Abby and a dozen others with Dave were on the ferry to France. They had arranged to stay overnight in a church hall in Normandy.

  They pulled up to the place in the late afternoon and were greeted by an enthusiastic group of French young people who, with their parents, had laid on a sumptuous feast – something the French do so well.

  “Bienvenue en Normandie!” they chanted.

  “It’s so good of you all to welcome us like this,” said Dave, amazed. “We were just looking for an easy place to put up. We didn’t expect a feast. Thank you so much.”

  “De rien,” replied the lady in charge. “No problem. Today you are our guests. In France we want to greet you well.”

  “You have indeed.”

  The young people were quickly getting to know one another. The French were quite excited to welcome a bunch of English strangers to their village.

&
nbsp; “Notre village, it is very dull. We do not make the holidays until next week. You are all so beautiful,” said a bonny French teenager in her best English but with a heavy French accent that Bandi was slowly getting used to.

  “That is very kind of you to say so,” he replied. “This is my first time in your country.”

  “Il est ton copain? Si beau,” said the girl to Abby. “Your boyfriend? He is beautiful.”

  “Yes… oui,” answered Abby hastily. “Il est… mon copain.” She saw she was going to have to keep a watch on Bandi. He was clearly enjoying the attention.

  The girl smiled and led them to a table.

  “Asseyez-vous… You sit down.”

  When everyone was seated – the English all mixed up among their French hosts – the lady leader called on an elderly French priest to pray. He did so in a fashion difficult to follow but Abby picked up nos amis anglais – our English friends – and gathered he was praying for them as well as giving thanks for the food.

  There were five courses, and wine too – watered for the children.

  When the feast was over, Abby had a bit of a headache and was very tired. Whether it was down to the wine or trying to communicate in French, she couldn’t decide. She had done very well in French at school but this was the first time she had had an opportunity to use it in France. There were so many words she didn’t know, and remembering the grammar was hard when you weren’t writing it. She heard herself make many mistakes – there must have been many more she didn’t recognise. She was embarrassed. But Bandi was impressed.

  “I made so many mistakes… and got stuck all the time.”

  “I was amazed at just how well you did. Did you notice that they gave up trying to talk in English to you? They spoke in English to me but French to you. They knew you understood them…”

  “I suppose so…”

  “You were brilliant. Just imagine how good you’ll be after a week.”

  ***

  They all slept well and after a huge continental breakfast, they were back on the motorway. Nearing Paris, they pulled into a service station. Despite the croissants and pains-au-chocolat they had consumed in Normandy, they all piled enthusiastically into the burger place. They emerged three-quarters of an hour later happy and full.

  “This is OK for a treat,” Abby told Bandi. “You mustn’t eat it all the time though – it’ll give you a heart attack.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” agreed Bandi. “Where’s the van?”

  The group had all headed in what they thought was the right direction but there was no van.

  “It was definitely here,” said Bandi. Dave was looking perplexed.

  “Someone’s nicked it!” said Sharon without hesitation.

  “Sharon, reluctantly I think I have to agree with you,” said Dave sadly.

  “What are we goin’ a do?” lamented Sharon’s friend Dawn. “They’ve got all our stuff!”

  “Not all of it,” said Dave. “That’s why I told you all to bring your passports and valuables with you everywhere you go.”

  Abby nodded. “Yeah. At least we’ve got our purses and wallets. Are we going to report this to the—”

  “I ain’t got mine,” burst in Sharon.

  “You ain’t… you haven’t got your what?” asked Dave calmly.

  “My passport. I left it in the bus.”

  “Sharon. After all I said—”

  “You never said anything about passports – you said valuables.”

  “And that includes passports, Sharon. When you are abroad your passport is one of the most valuable things you own.”

  “You’re going to have to stay in France for ever!” contributed Dawn helpfully.

  “Shut up!” retaliated Sharon.

  “OK, you two, let’s be constructive,” said Dave. “Let’s take stock.” They all checked on what they had got and what was left in the minibus. Apart from Sharon’s passport, there was nothing that couldn’t be replaced – the most valuable was the camping gear, and one of Sharon’s best party dresses that she said cost a hundred quid, until Dawn pointed out that it had come from the Heart Foundation charity shop, which Sharon forcefully refuted.

  The police responded remarkably quickly – they already had a presence at the service station. They took the details of the minibus and the names of the passengers.

  “Does this happen often?” asked Dave.

  “Pas tous les jours, mais la plupart – not every day but most,” said the officer.

  “What’s the chance of getting the bus back?” The officer raised his shoulders, opened his hands and extended his lip. Dave didn’t feel reassured. He rang the insurance company in England who were very helpful. They arranged for them to be collected from the service station and taken to a van hire company in the nearby town. They wouldn’t be able to take the replacement bus onto the ferry but at least it would get them to the port. They were to phone the insurance company again when they had docked.

  “It’s a good job the diocese has a decent insurance policy,” said Dave on his mobile to Lynn. “We’ll overnight here and drive directly to the port tomorrow. We’ll get rooms in a motel…”

  The group gathered round him, “Sorry, guys, it looks like we’re not going to be able to get to Taizé after all.”

  ***

  The motel was strange but fun. There was no reception – you just got a ticket from a machine; a total contrast to the welcome that they had received in Normandy. It was a block of rooms with no internal corridor. Access to all the rooms was by external walkways which were exposed to a pretty strong wind.

  “In a proper gale this could be positively dangerous,” yelled Abby, battling along on the top floor. “It’s like climbing to the top of a roller coaster, only on foot and without being tied down.”

  “Just hang on to the rail!” shouted Bandi. “On the corner it could become a gale.” He was right. Two further doors, and at last they tumbled safely into their rooms. They could hear Sharon and Dawn bellowing to each other on the floor below them.

  “What an adventure,” laughed Abby. But their adventure had only just begun.

  ***

  The next morning they did see a human being in the breakfast room on the ground floor. She didn’t say much, though – just took their room numbers.

  By half past seven they were on the road.

  Getting through the town was tedious but Dave eventually got them back onto the motorway and they were off. This bus had more power than their own; it was a pleasure to drive. They were in an outside lane making good progress when Sharon declared, “Ain’t that our bus?”

  They were passing a minibus that could well have been theirs. It was plain, though; there was no lettering on the side.

  Dave throttled back and pulled in behind it. It had a German number plate and there was no cover on the spare wheel. But then Sharon, who seemed to be up on these things, pronounced that it was definitely theirs; she recognised a scrape on the bumper and a dent in the rear door.

  “You might just be right,” said Bandi. “It’s exactly the same colour blue, and the roof rack’s identical… and it’s right-hand drive.”

  Dave pulled out to take a look at the side – the letters were missing but they could still make out the outline. It was their bus! He fell in behind again and asked Abby to phone the police. To be safe he allowed another vehicle between them; he was worried they might have drawn too much attention to themselves already.

  They followed the bus for a further two junctions and when it left the motorway he decided to keep it in view. This wasn’t easy through a town. Roundabouts and traffic lights intervened but, eventually, as they left the town, they spotted it turn down a narrow country lane. The lane was no more than a narrow track that wended its way through some fields. They saw the bus round a bend and disappear behind a copse. They couldn’t follow it without being seen and Dave did not want to put the young people in danger, so he decided to park up, call the police and head back into the town.r />
  “What’re you waiting for?” yelled Sharon. “They’re getting away.”

  “And when we catch them, what do you propose we do, Sharon? I do not fancy coming face to face with thieves. That’s a job to leave to the police.”

  Sharon let out an audible sigh of disappointment. Some of the others felt let down too.

  “This is boring,” groaned Dawn.

  “I feel sick!” announced Sharon all of a sudden. “Let me out!”

  Before Dave could do anything, the girl was out of the back of the minibus and heading for some trees that lined the road. Others followed her – Dawn to look after Sharon and a boy called Wayne, “because he needed to”.

  It was then that the stolen bus reappeared – in a yard across a field on the other side of the hedge beyond the trees. The track had doubled back.

  “There it is!” shouted Sharon, all traces of sickness leaving her. “It’s in that yard… There’s loads of other stuff there too. Do you reckon it’s all pinched?”

  “Sharon,” ordered Dave, “come away from there. If you can see them, they can see you.”

  “Where? Show me,” demanded Dawn, taking no heed of Dave’s call.

  Abby pushed herself through the undergrowth to take hold of the girls and force them back onto the road. But by this time teenagers were all over the place and keeping a low profile was an impossibility. Dave was so busy trying to regain control of the teenagers that he hadn’t got round to ringing the police.

  Eventually order was restored. Dave explained that, unfortunately, despite what happens in the films, thieves are not romantic characters. They were people who needed to be caught by surprise – by the police – and if they wanted their bus (and visit to Taizé) restored, they should all get back into the bus and wait. He took out his mobile to phone.

  “Donne-le-moi!” a gruff voice spoke from behind Dave.

  Dave turned to see a very rough-looking man with a shotgun, backed by four others armed with a collection of clubs and metal bars.