Chapter 42: "Helicopters, Forests, and the Family Tradition of Overreacting"
In which Derek loses one fight and gets shipped to a frozen mountain, Mara threatens civilization with agriculture, and Toby reveals that his ideal future is somehow worse.
Previous week:
Derek Holt had always understood one very important thing about his family.
Losing was allowed.
Technically.
You could lose a race.
Lose a match.
Lose an argument.
Lose a battle.
Those things happened.
What you were not allowed to do was lose and remain the same person afterward.
That was where General Hush Holt drew the line.
Unfortunately for Derek...
getting slammed into a school gym mat by Evan Mercer in front of half of Ravencrest High definitely counted.
The Holt family had worn uniforms for generations.
Army.
Navy.
Air Force.
Different branches.
Same attitude.
Somewhere in the family estate was an entire hallway dedicated to old photographs of stern-looking relatives standing beside tanks, aircraft, ships, horses, artillery pieces and, in one particularly confusing photograph, what looked suspiciously like a giant dead lizard.
Derek had asked about that one when he was eight.
His father had stared at him for several seconds and said:
"Training exercise."
Derek had believed him.
Mostly.
The family's military history went back to the nation's independence.
Decorations.
Commands.
Operations that appeared in history books.
Other operations that definitely did not.
Derek's older brother had joined the Navy and was already advancing through a career most people twice his age would consider impressive.
His mother was an Air Force pilot.
Not had been.
Was.
She still flew.
Still trained.
Still had enough classified clearance that Derek had learned very young not to ask why certain locked cases appeared in the house for three days and then vanished.
She was also the reasonable parent.
Relatively speaking.
Which mostly meant she would tell you exactly why you were being punished before the punishment began.
General Hush Holt considered explanations optional.
Derek had worshipped the man for as long as he could remember.
His father was everything Derek thought strength was supposed to look like.
Disciplined.
Controlled.
Unshakable.
The sort of man who could walk into a room full of officers and somehow make everybody stand straighter without saying anything.
So when Derek returned home after losing to Evan...
he already knew.
The house was too quiet.
That was clue number one.
Clue number two?
His father was home in the middle of the afternoon.
General Hush Holt stood in the family training room with his hands clasped behind his back.
Still in uniform.
Still wearing the expression he used when somebody had disappointed both him personally and the concept of military readiness.
Derek stopped in the doorway.
His bruised ribs immediately hurt more.
"Sir."
His father looked him over.
Split lip.
Bruised cheek.
Tape around two fingers.
A slight limp.
He didn't ask if Derek was hurt.
He asked:
"Did you underestimate him?"
Derek hesitated.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you hold back?"
"At first."
"Did he?"
Derek thought about that.
Evan had fought cautiously early on.
Then adapted.
Then gotten reckless.
Then gotten terrifyingly stubborn.
"No, sir."
General Holt nodded once.
That somehow felt worse than yelling.
"You lost publicly."
Derek's jaw tightened.
"Yes, sir."
"To Garrick Mercer's son."
There it was.
Derek should've expected that part.
His father's rivalry with Garrick Mercer had existed longer than Derek had been alive.
Nobody was entirely sure how serious it actually was.
Garrick treated the entire thing like a friendship.
General Holt did not.
The problem had started years ago during a friendly military demonstration.
Or training event.
Or barbecue.
The story changed depending on who told it.
What never changed?
Garrick Mercer had thrown General Hush Holt onto his back in front of several officers.
Then helped him up.
Then offered him a sandwich.
Derek's father had apparently never recovered emotionally from the sandwich.
His mother, meanwhile, had laughed so hard she'd nearly fallen out of her chair.
She and Selene Mercer had remained friends ever since.
Which was probably one of the reasons the rivalry never escalated into actual homicide.
Probably.
General Holt walked closer.
"You admired Garrick Mercer."
Derek nodded.
"I still do."
His father's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Derek resisted smiling.
Dangerous.
"He is undisciplined."
"Yes, sir."
"Reckless."
"Yes, sir."
"Loud."
"Extremely, sir."
A pause.
"And effective."
Derek kept his face neutral.
"Yes, sir."
General Holt stared at him.
Then:
"His son beat you."
Derek met his father's eyes.
"Yes."
The room went very quiet.
Then his father did something unexpected.
He smiled.
Barely.
Not happily.
More like a man who had just been given a new problem worth solving.
"Good."
Derek blinked.
"Sir?"
"You needed this."
That sounded disturbingly familiar.
Derek had used almost the exact same logic on Evan.
For years.
Pressure.
Challenge.
Force someone to improve.
And suddenly hearing it from the other side felt...
different.
General Holt continued.
"You've been the strongest boy in your school for too long."
Derek said nothing.
"You became comfortable."
"I trained every day."
"Comfortable people train too."
His father's voice hardened.
"They simply train where they already know they'll win."
That one hit harder than Evan's uppercut.
Derek looked away.
Only for a second.
His father noticed.
Of course he did.
"The world isn't normal anymore."
There it was.
Another Holt family rule.
One that had never been said loudly outside certain rooms.
Ordinary people believed ghosts were recent.
Or rare.
Or scientific anomalies the Mercers happened to study.
The Holts knew better.
The military knew better.
Certain governments had known better for a very long time.
Supernatural creatures.
Possessions.
Spirit attacks.
Things hidden inside classified reports with names like:
UNUSUAL ENVIRONMENTAL EVENT
because apparently bureaucracy became cowardly when monsters were involved.
General Holt stepped closer.
"You think being the strongest athlete in a school means something?"
Derek didn't answer.
"It doesn't."
His father's voice dropped.
"Not anymore."
Derek's mother entered behind him.
Flight jacket still on.
Hair tied back.
Calmer expression.
She looked at Derek.
Then at his father.
Then sighed.
"You started without me."
General Holt didn't turn.
"He returned early."
"Yes."
She walked toward Derek.
Reached up.
Examined his bruised face.
Derek stayed still.
"Concussion?"
"No."
"Ribs?"
"Bruised."
"Anything broken?"
"No."
She nodded.
"Selene's boy did this?"
Derek sighed.
"Yes."
His mother smiled.
Not cruelly.
Not even proudly.
Just amused.
"Good for him."
General Holt looked offended.
She ignored him.
"What?"
"Derek needed competition."
General Holt's expression suggested he had invented that thought approximately thirty seconds earlier and did not appreciate someone else claiming it.
Derek's mother looked back at her son.
"You fought properly?"
"Yes."
"You lost fairly?"
"Yes."
"Then learn from it."
Simple.
That was why Derek found her easier to understand.
Then she added:
"Your father has already arranged transport."
Derek frowned.
"Transport?"
A vibration rattled the windows.
His eyes slowly turned toward the ceiling.
WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP.
Helicopter rotors.
Derek closed his eyes.
"No."
His mother patted his shoulder.
"Yes."
General Holt's expression finally became satisfied.
"You leave in ten minutes."
"For where?"
"The mountains."
Derek opened his eyes.
"What mountains?"
"The cold ones."
That was not an answer.
His mother looked mildly apologetic.
"I packed thermal gear."
"You packed already?"
"Your father called before you reached home."
Derek stared at him.
General Holt seemed completely comfortable with this.
"What exactly am I doing there?"
"Training."
"I train here."
"Not like this."
That sentence carried weight.
Derek heard it.
His mother did too.
Her expression became slightly more serious.
"The facility has instructors your school can't provide."
Derek stared between them.
"Military?"
His father answered.
"Some."
That was worse.
"What does that mean?"
"You'll find out."
Of course.
Holt family communication.
Why answer a question when you could create psychological tension instead?
Derek rubbed his face.
"How long?"
"Until I'm satisfied."
Derek looked at his mother.
She made a tiny grimace.
Translation:
Sorry.
General Holt walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
"One more thing."
Derek straightened automatically.
"Mercer changed."
Derek's eyes narrowed.
"Fast."
His father continued.
"Faster than ordinary training explains."
Derek had noticed too.
Obviously.
Evan's strength wasn't impossible.
His conditioning wasn't impossible.
But the technical development?
The instincts?
The way he moved?
That was different.
His father looked at him.
"Don't assume you're the only family with access to things the public doesn't understand."
Derek went still.
So his father had noticed that too.
His mother crossed her arms.
"Hush."
"What?"
"Don't encourage paranoia."
"I'm encouraging awareness."
"You've been encouraging awareness since he was six."
"It worked."
"It gave him a combat knife for his seventh birthday."
"It was blunt."
Derek remembered that knife fondly.
His mother sighed.
Then looked at him.
"Don't obsess over Evan."
General Holt immediately said:
"Study him."
She glared at her husband.
"I said don't obsess."
"I said study."
"Those are very close with you."
Derek looked between them.
Same marriage.
Different wars.
His mother finally shook her head.
"Go change."
Derek turned toward the stairs.
Then paused.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"You still talk to Mrs. Mercer?"
"Selene?"
She nodded.
"Of course."
Derek glanced toward his father.
General Holt looked like this friendship was a personal betrayal.
His mother smiled.
"She's much more pleasant than her husband."
General Holt made a sound.
Derek smirked.
Then regretted it when his ribs hurt.
Ten minutes later, he was carrying a duffel bag toward a military helicopter.
Snow gear.
Training clothes.
Medical kit.
Three classified-looking cases he had definitely not packed himself.
The helicopter door opened.
Cold wind blasted across the lawn.
Derek climbed inside.
His father followed just far enough to stand beside the door.
"Come back better."
Derek buckled in.
His split lip curved.
"Planning to."
The door slammed shut.
The helicopter lifted.
His house shrank beneath him.
Then the city.
Then Ravencrest High.
Somewhere down there, Evan Mercer was probably enjoying his victory.
Derek leaned back.
Closed his eyes.
And smiled.
Fine.
If Evan wanted to get stronger...
Derek could do that too.
The helicopter turned north.
Toward white mountains.
Toward a training facility most civilians didn't know existed.
Toward instructors who weren't necessarily normal humans.
Because in an abnormal world?
The Holt family had absolutely no intention of staying ordinary.
---------------------------
Evan: Current Time
I was walking to school.
Like a normal person.
With legs.
Because apparently "secret half ghost" meant I couldn't simply fly over traffic while screaming:
LOOK AT ME, PHYSICS!
Tragic.
Toby walked on my left.
Mara on my right.
She had her school bag over one shoulder, athletic jacket tied around her waist, and a smoothie in one hand that was aggressively green.
I stared at it.
"What is that?"
"Breakfast."
"That wasn't my question."
"Spinach."
I grimaced.
"Apple."
Less bad.
"Celery."
Worse.
"Mint."
Fine.
"Chia seeds."
Suspicious.
"Protein."
I looked at her.
"What kind?"
"Plant."
Of course.
Toby leaned over.
"Any meat in it?"
Mara slowly turned her head.
He immediately backed away.
"Just checking."
Mara's relationship with meat could generously be described as hostile.
Not because she thought everyone who ate it was evil.
Mostly.
She just hated the amount of land, water, feed and industrial waste involved in large-scale production.
She had explained this to us before.
Several times.
With charts.
Once during lunch while I was actively eating a burger.
That conversation had contained the phrase:
Do you know how many liters of water died for that?
I still wasn't sure water could die.
Mara believed strongly enough for all of us.
We crossed another street.
Cars.
Concrete.
Apartment buildings.
Stores.
Billboards.
Power lines.
Mara looked around.
Then sighed.
"You know what I'd do if I owned this city?"
Toby immediately answered:
"Install fiber optic cable everywhere."
She looked disgusted.
"No."
"Autonomous public transportation?"
"No."
"Robot delivery infrastructure?"
"No."
"Municipal drone network?"
"Toby."
He stopped.
Mara spread one hand toward the buildings.
"Demolish half of it."
I nearly tripped.
"Good morning to you too."
She pointed at a block of shops.
"Gone."
"Mara—"
"That parking lot?"
She pointed.
"Forest."
Toby frowned.
"Where do people park?"
"They don't."
"Tyranny."
"Public transportation."
"Communism."
"Urban planning."
She pointed toward an office building.
"Fruit trees."
Another building.
"Vertical gardens."
A vacant lot.
"Vegetables."
The median between roads.
"Native plants."
I stared at her.
"You've thought about this."
"Obviously."
That was the thing.
Mara didn't just like plants.
She loved them.
Not in the:
Oh, that's a pretty flower
way.
More in the:
I have investigated the soil pH requirements of this species and have opinions
way.
Her family's land included farms.
Large ones.
Some had been in the family for generations.
She'd grown up visiting them.
Orchards.
Fields.
Greenhouses.
Woodland.
Actual space.
Then she came back into the city and saw three acres of asphalt surrounding a shopping complex and apparently took it personally.
Mara pointed toward the skyline.
"My ideal city has maybe a third of this."
Toby looked alarmed.
"Buildings?"
"Yes."
"People?"
"No."
"Oh."
"Mostly."
I looked at her.
"Mostly?"
She ignored that.
"Think about it."
And there it was.
Mara Voice.
The tone she used when she'd already decided you were going to listen.
"Large forest corridors connecting different districts."
"Fruit trees people can actually eat from."
"Community gardens."
"Vegetable plots."
"Native plants."
"Farms closer to population centers."
"Less concrete."
"Less heat."
"Cleaner air."
"Actual biodiversity."
Her expression brightened as she spoke.
It was one of the things I liked about Mara.
When she cared about something, she didn't care halfway.
She cared at full volume.
"My house someday is going to be in the middle of a forest."
Toby raised an eyebrow.
"You already live in a mansion."
"Not enough trees."
I laughed.
Her family estate had enough trees to hide several crimes.
Apparently insufficient.
"I'm serious."
She looked ahead.
"I want a massive forest."
"How massive?"
"Ridiculous."
That sounded precise.
"Fruit."
"Vegetables."
"Herbs."
"Medicinal plants."
"Greenhouses where necessary."
"Ponds."
"Wildlife corridors."
She smiled.
"And enough productive land that the whole thing pays for itself."
Toby looked at her.
"You know you don't actually need money."
Mara shrugged.
"I know."
That was possibly the most old-money answer anyone had ever given.
Her family wealth wasn't the kind sitting in one bank account waiting to disappear.
Land.
Business stakes.
Investments.
Farms.
Things that generated more things.
Mara had once explained compound wealth to us and Toby had looked depressed for the rest of the afternoon.
"I still want the forest to be productive," she said.
"What's the point of growing things if nobody uses them?"
I smiled.
"So your dream is basically becoming a forest queen."
Mara frowned.
"No."
"Forest dictator?"
"Better."
Toby snapped his fingers.
"Eco-warlord."
Mara considered.
"...Acceptable."
I laughed.
She elbowed me.
Then Toby adjusted his backpack.
"Still better than your dream."
Mara looked at him.
"My dream involves feeding people and restoring ecosystems."
"Mine also improves human quality of life."
I already knew I was going to regret this.
"What exactly is your dream?"
Toby's face lit up.
Wrong question.
"Okay."
He pushed his glasses up.
"Imagine a fully automated civilization."
Mara groaned.
"No."
"Robots handle all dangerous labor."
"Fine."
"Artificial intelligence optimizes food distribution."
"Concerning, but fine."
"Automated homes."
"Fine."
"Medical nanotechnology."
"Fine."
"Self-maintaining infrastructure."
"Fine."
"Orbital industry."
"You're losing me."
Then Toby smiled.
"And eventually machines become so advanced that humanity no longer needs to do anything."
Mara stared.
"That's your paradise?"
"Almost."
There it was.
"Eventually AI becomes smarter than us."
I slowed.
"Toby."
"But benevolent."
"Toby."
"Extremely benevolent."
Mara looked horrified.
"You want robots to rule humanity."
"No."
He sounded offended.
"I want robots to lovingly manage humanity."
I stopped walking.
Mara stopped.
We both stared at him.
Toby continued, completely serious.
"Think about it."
"No," Mara said.
"Humans get comfortable homes."
"No."
"Unlimited entertainment."
"No."
"Excellent healthcare."
"No."
"Perfect nutrition."
"No."
"And maybe little tracking collars."
I choked.
Mara stared at him like she'd just discovered he ate endangered animals.
"You want humans to be pets."
"Expensive pets."
"That does not help."
I was laughing now.
Toby spread his arms.
"You'd never work."
"You'd never worry about rent."
"You'd never need to cook."
"Robots would handle everything."
Mara pointed at him.
"That is a dystopia."
"A luxurious dystopia."
"It's still a dystopia!"
"You want to demolish cities and return humanity to the forest!"
"I want sustainable cities!"
"You said demolish half the buildings."
"Some sacrifices are necessary."
I raised both hands.
"Okay."
They looked at me.
"I would like to officially state that both of your ideal futures terrify me."
Mara frowned.
"My forest feeds people."
"Toby's robots feed people too."
She glared.
"Don't compare us."
Toby nodded.
"True. Mine has Wi-Fi."
Mara stepped toward him.
He moved behind me.
"Protection."
I looked over my shoulder.
"I'm not protecting you."
"We're friends."
"You suggested putting tracking collars on the human race."
"For healthcare monitoring."
Mara reached around me.
Toby dodged.
"See?" he said. "Violence. Robots wouldn't allow this."
"They'd probably put you in a padded enclosure."
"Premium padded enclosure."
"Stop making it worse!"
We started walking again.
Mara was still explaining why his future represented "the final death of human dignity."
Toby was defending it using phrases like:
"post-labor civilization"
and:
"premium enrichment activities."
I walked between them.
Listening.
Laughing.
And for a few minutes?
Everything felt normal.
No ghosts.
No ancient cultivators.
No dimensional portals.
No secret supernatural powers.
Just three teenagers arguing about which one of their friends had the worse plan for civilization.
Then Toby looked around.
"Hey."
"What?"
"Where's Derek?"
Mara shrugged.
"Probably recovering."
I thought about last week.
Derek's grin after losing.
That strange satisfaction.
The way he'd looked at me like getting beaten was somehow good news.
"Maybe."
I just shoved my hands into my pockets.
"Come on."
Ravencrest High waited ahead.
Another completely normal school day.
Which, based on recent experience...
meant we were probably doomed.