We pulled away from the shore as soon as I agreed with the voyage, like the entire thing had been planned from the beginning.

When we finished eating breakfast the strange family excused themselves from the table and left the room. They must have been given quarters or something, as they seemed like they knew where they were going. I watched them go down the hall and into another room.

Tom invited us to move from the table to a set of comfortable chairs with a 180 degree view of the North Shore mountains, and the city, with Stanley Park in the background.

I hadn't felt this much luxury in so many years, my body didn't know what to do with it all. My belly was full of bacon and tea, and I was ready for a nap. The only thing missing was a good book. I leaned back in the glorious cushions with the sun on my face, and tried to ignore Michael and Nicole arguing over a pair of binoculars.

"Let me look," Nicole whined.

"Okay, here," Michael said, relinquishing the precious object.

Nicole put them to her eyes and scanned the horizon, wildly. "Where is it? I can't see anything!"

"Come on silly, use some sense. Slow down and look in the sky for a white streak, then follow it to the ground and you'll see it. There's a camp there with a fire burning."

"What are you going on about?" I interrupted. It just dawned on me that they were looking at people.

"A fire. Someone's having a big fire on that island across the water."

"Give me those binoculars," I demanded, suddenly curious.

I looked in and saw smoke coming from Stanley Park. I waited for Tom to come back from some errand he was running, and asked, "Who lives over there in Stanley Park?"

"They call themselves the Quixam," He answered. When he saw that I obviously wanted more, he continued, "After the big one hit, when most everyone left the coast, they stayed behind and laid a claim to their so-called 'native' land. According to them, the big one was the best thing that ever happened. They live in poverty. They're very xenophobic, thought I've heard they'll let anyone live with them who agrees with their ways. "

"What kind of ways are they?" I asked, becoming intensely curious. I looked through the binoculars at the shore. Was that a person over there, bending at the water?

"They're a brutal, bloody group of people, best to be avoided," he said dismissively. "They're all ex-drug addicts and homeless. You know, the scum that got left behind."

I put my eyes back up the binoculars to hide my expression. I didn't say it out loud, but remarked silently that I had been part of that scum. Although I'd had some choice in the matter, the truth was, I didn't feel like the new world belonged to me.

Tom continued, "I can't understand why anyone would want to live over there — from anything I've ever seen, it looks like they live like a bunch of animals."

I let down the binoculars and looked at him, trying to read his face, which was smooth, without a wrinkle of doubt. He had spoken with a calm surety that made my skin crawl. Racist son of a bitch.

I swallowed my disgust and picked up my binoculars again. I'd learned a long, long time ago that people like him weren't worth my time. I looked for the person on the shore. I had a feeling I'd rather be over there, on Stanley Park island, than on this boat. The thought of finding a community of misfits where I'd be welcome. Other adults... it hadn't crossed my mind.

While watching the person, who was obviously squatting by the water — maybe washing something, I asked, "Brutal, huh, so what happened?" I tried to adjust the dial on the binoculars to focus on the figure on the beach, but I just could not find that sweet spot — it was either too far, or too near. I felt annoyed with my aging fingers.

"We've had lots of conflict with them in the past, but now we have a truce."

"What kind of conflicts have you had with them?" I asked, looking at him again.

"They destroyed some of our boats and laid siege to our operations."

"Why would they do that?" I asked, feeling very doubtful that he would tell me the whole story.

"They accused us of trespassing and destruction of their property." He wiped his face, which showed signs of stress around the topic.

I frowned.

He explained, "How were we to know that they claimed all of Old Vancouver as their land? I mean, they didn't build those buildings. They claim it's their ancestral territory and they're willing to die for it. Anyways, what's done is done. We don't go there anymore and they keep to themselves. That land is off limits.

For the first time in a very long time, I had a feeling of excitement — a sense of hope. I did my best to hide my curiosity, but I wanted nothing more than to ask Tom to deliver me right then and there to that woman washing her clothes on the beach.

* * *

When we neared the shores of downtown Vancouver, we pulled up to the staircase at BC Place Stadium. Tom's men quickly lowered a walkway with railings and we disembarked.

Corrinne, Tabitha and Fred came along — they were being transferred to another boat leaving for New Vancouver today — an enormous barge loaded with cultural artifacts is how Tom had described it. The husband and daughter carried the woman those few stairs and we reached the Terry Fox memorial where a wheelchair was waiting for them.

I was looking forward to see that beautiful man's face, but after I'd huffed and puffed my way up the stairs, I was disappointed to find the statues were gone. I wondered who could have taken it, and why. I wanted to ask, but decided to keep silent.

We walked over the memorial ground, where someone, perhaps the CPT, had cleared the rubble and made a clear path. I could see the library a few blocks ahead, partially crumbling, but still miraculously intact. As we walked closer, my heart began to beat with excitement. It had been so many years. So many years.

I pushed onward, out of breath from all this walking, but overjoyed at the thought of seeing my favourite library one last time.

Michael looked over at me and his face crinkled in a smile. I realized that I was smiling — he was smiling because I was smiling. I had a big shit-eating grin plastered on my face and was glad that Tom could not see me. He was pushing Corinne and talking with that group about their optimistic plans.

Ugh... No, I was happy to keep a brisk pace with Michael and Nicole and avoid all that blather.

"Michael," I said, taking a deep breath, "Nicole. Both of you, take a look up there — do you see the circular walls?"

They looked up and Michael nodded, so I continued. "The library was modelled after the Roman Coliseum, an ancient arena in Italy. It was the most spectacular building of Vancouver, back in the day. It was a beautiful building that I spent a lot of time in. It was a bustling hub of the city."

"What did you do here?" Michael asked.

I could see that both of them couldn't really see in their minds' eye what would go on at a library. "Well, besides reading all kinds of things. We used internet there when you didn't have it at home. Studied — lots of people did their homework there. I used to tutor all the international students in English in the mezanine. Research... all kinds of things." I could see by their faces that they didn't know what half of that stuff was, and the other half they had no relevant use for. "We hung out, really. Lots of people just hung out there. Homeless people would come in and take a nap."

"Homeless people?" Michael asked.

"People with no 'home'" I winced, already catching the multiple flaws in my definition. "There used to be a lot of people in Vancouver who lived in the streets. Who didn't have a home."

They nodded. Not having a home was something they understood.

"Anyways, it was a wonderful place in the city, where all kinds of people came — the rich and the poor — everyone was welcome."

That made them smile.

We were just a block away, and the building towered over me. We walked easily on a path on the road wide enough for a vehicle that had been cleared all the way from the Terry Fox Memorial to the library. Up ahead, I could see CPT officers walking around in their black outfits.

"Let's wait here for Tom," I told the children. We stopped and turned around to see where the other group was. I was anxious to move forward.

They were lagging behind with the old woman, chatting. I rolled my eyes and put my hand on my hip impatiently. It had taken them 20 minutes to walk up 20 paces! Tom, not surprisingly, just kept up his endless mellifluence, which I was already past sick of. His voice was booming — even from here I could hear him.

If I could have only put some earplugs in, I would have. Ahhh.... Earplugs, I thought... You beautiful little pink and orange things. I hadn't seen a pair in years, and hardly had I needed them, living on my own as I did. There weren't any neighbours above or below me, no traffic, no horns, no blaring radios. Nothing but silence, really. But this Tom, he was a talker, a real talker. Unlike Michael, who'd been my only human for years.

Humans... ugh. I shuttered and took a deep breath, calming myself. I felt light-headed, and I realized that despite my excitement, I was feeling anxious. I reached out to Michael, and without a word, he reached out to stabilize me. His face registered concern. Nicole came over and propped me up too, and they brought me over to the edge of the plaza, to sit on a stone block.

"Thank you, Michael. Nike." I smiled at them both.

They both nodded and smiled silently — the two of them were peas in a pod. Or I should say clams in a clamshell.

I nodded at them and tried to relax a bit.

Nicole put her hands back into the pockets of her oversized jacket, looking like she'd been swallowed by the thing, and the only part left of her was her head. Michael stood beside me. It was sunny — cold, but sunny. The sun beamed down on us and I revelled in it. I looked over at Michael and examined his face. He'd sure grown up. In the light, and this close, I could see his whiskers. They were coming in. He looked at me, looking at him, and I couldn't help it — a broad smile slowly spread across my face. I was embarrassed to have these emotions, but here they were.... I actually loved the little rascal, and would do anything for him.

When the slow group finally arrived, I was feeling better.

Tom came up, with a beaming grin on his face, and asked, "Are you ready?"

I nodded. "I sure am."

And he held out his arm, "May I?"

I didn't like it one bit, but there it was. I managed to hide looking annoyed — at least I think I did — and took his arm. We walked up towards the entrance of the library.

When we got close, I saw that the big glass doors to the mezzanine — a beautiful open courtyard with seven storied ceiling — had been barricaded with bookshelves. All the glass on the bottom floor had been barricaded, and I couldn't see a thing inside. I frowned.

My frown deepened when I saw a gun pointing out of a hole in the barricaded wall.

Tom identified himself, "Colonol Mercer here for General Mercer with six unarmed citizens." The way he talked surprised me, and I realised he was a high-ranking officer in whatever army this was. He wasn't wearing a uniform, so this level of official behavour surprised me.

After some movement behind the wall, a space was opened up and some men came out. They were all carrying guns. One of the men held up a metal detector and scanned us. I actually couldn't believe my eyes.

Tom must have seen the look of surprise on my face, because he reassured me, "This is normal procedure. My father is a very cautious man. Don't worry. We'll be inside in moments."

I nodded and held out my arms. I felt a rush of nostalgia at the act, and despite the creepiness of the situation, the act of holding my arms out reminded me of passing through an airport on route to an adventure. I had to stifle a feeling of excitement that crept up into my belly. Not for the first time, nor the last, I wondered who on earth these people were.

Once inside, the place was a hive of activity. People were building containers out of bookshelves, which got my mind whirling. What are they planning? Knowing Tom would only fill my ear with a bunch of BS about his wonderful 'Family' and the new world they were creating together, I kept my mouth shut.

I asked instead, "Why are there so many people with guns?" My tone was clearly challenging.

Tom stopped. He nodded and smiled. "Yes, yes." He looked unhappy. "Unfortunately, there are those who do not believe in the future we're creating and we need to protect ourselves. My father is a very powerful man. And with power comes danger, as there are many who would like to take that power away.

"You mean the Quixam?" I asked.

He looked at me curiously and then nodded. "Well yes, they're one group."

Tabitha looked around nervously, "Are we safe here?" she asked. She was clearly traumatised by some recent violence, and I remembered what Tom had mentioned about rescuing them from some hooligans.

Tom was quick to jump back with a snappy, smooth and reassuring reply, "Oh yes, we are exceedingly safe here. Many of these precautions are pre-emtive. My father takes no risks when it comes to the safety of The Family.

Tabitha nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Come, let me take you on a tour of the library, and then we'll go meet my father."

The mezzanine wasn't as glorious as it once had been, but it still shined. Many of the glass windows above had been smashed, but the room was still full of light. As we neared the library, my belly began to fill with excitement.

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Author's Note: 

I'm not used to writing scenes with a group of people, so is there anyone missing in this scene?

Also, does Tom's character come across as authentic and consistenet -- or is there something going on there that doesn't work? Any feedback on your impression of him would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

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The Vancouver Public Library - Central Branch is one of my favourite buildings in the world. The media for this chapter shows the library, which has been used by numerous sci-fi shows, including The Fringe and Battlestar Galactica! (there's Helo and Sharon in the foreground). I'll post a pic of the mezzanine in the next part of this chapter.