Hector sat beside the woman. Isabel ignored him. So commenced a game of chicken where neither of them acknowledged the other. Hector didn’t know how to start a conversation about her epic unpopularity and Isabel seemed determined to drive him away through awkwardness.
She cracked first. “They hate me.”
“I’m not too popular at the moment myself.”
“That’s because everyone worries about you. The others would be happy to see me leave. I miss my sect sisters. And Rover Fred. I like talking to Fred.”
“You know, It’s been a while since we did a joke swap.”
Isabel sighed. “Very well. I will go first. This one is from Union Central. A famous Arahant Sage visits Promise City and sees the famous statue of the couple about to kiss. He is a lustful creature in his heart and feels sad that these creatures of stone have never consummated their love. So he sets up a ritual circle and chants in ancient tongues for hours. The two statues become flesh. Immediately, the two of them run off through the park.
“The Sage sits on a park bench, happy to have been of service to the cause of love. Not long after, the man and woman statue return to the pedestal where they stood for so long. He rushes to meet them, saying ‘the two of you have several hours remaining to be flesh, why not go again?’ The woman turns to the man. ‘Good idea. This time you hold the pigeon down and I poop on it!’”
Hector chuckled while Isabel sat a little taller. “My turn?”
“Make your attempt at humor, Hector.”
The real challenge with their game was that Hector didn’t possess an encyclopedic knowledge of jokes like some people he knew. Most of those he did remember were too specific to Earth culture to translate well. The ones that were suitable he’d already shared with Isabel. There weren’t many jokes left to tell. Though he did have an untapped reservoir of one liners.
“Yo mama is so poor, she can’t even pay attention.”
Isabel smiled before she could help herself, then shook her head to deny the reaction. “That is insult comedy, Hector.”
“Does that not count as humor?”
Isabel poked Hector in the chest. “Your cultivation is so unorthodox the sect master designated you a heavenly resource.”
Hector raised a brow. He understood the implication only because he’d been at the Zing auction where he learned that ‘heavenly’ was a euphemism for resources made from human flesh. Suggesting someone was so bad at advancing that the most effective use for them involved cannibalism was not funny to a guy who drank the elixir made from his dream counterpart.
“Yo mama is so slow it took her nine months to make a joke.”
Isabel narrowed her eyes. “I follow you into battle, but only out of curiosity.”
“You should be curious. I once killed two stones with one bird.” That one was a repurposed Chuck Norris joke. He’d heard about a thousand of those during long shifts at the warehouse. He might be able to recall a dozen if he tried hard enough. He would try the one about beating the sun at a staring contest next.
As it happened, there was no need for a next.
Isabel didn’t make a sound, but her shoulders began to tremble as she held back her reaction by compressing her lips together. She lasted only a few seconds before her restraint failed with an eruption of laughter. “Kill stones! With bird!”
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Perhaps his sense of accomplishment shouldn’t be triggered by finally winning at a joke swap. He’d done a lot of things far more impressive and meaningful. At that moment, however, Hector finally felt like he’d recaptured a missing piece of his identity. He wasn’t the expert humorist his father had been, but neither was he the humorless bore Isabel painted him as.
“Do you admit defeat?”
“Everyone wins eventually, Hector. Do not be too proud.” She smiled. “It is a good joke.”
“Should we grab dinner? We’ll be harder to intimidate if we stick together.”
She snorted. “I do not intimidate easily.” Despite her words, Isabel climbed to her feet.
After filling their bellies, Hector asked a question that had been at the back of his mind for a while. “Before I jumped from the shuttle, I moved faster than I thought possible. Do you have any idea what that was about?”
Isabel stared at him. “Your body is at the peak of level nine.”
“I am aware. What does that mean? You act like it explains something.”
“Do you understand what level ten is?”
“Parity. Transcendence.”
“Those are just words, Hector. The energy density of every human universe is the same. Even unempowered worlds have no less energy than the true worlds. The difference is one of purity. True worlds have a dominant type. Unempowered worlds are more mixed.
“A human soul forms at a much lower energy density than the world around it. Like a bubble of air in water. Should that soul advance to level ten, however, it matches the energy density of the world. Your body aperture is close to matching the heft of reality itself.
“You have achieved the lesser immortality. Your body will never age. Only the Tribulation stands between you and true immortality, where you can reconstitute your flesh so long as your soul remains intact. Though you may never cross that hurdle, you are close. If you exert yourself, many things become possible. In the sect, we were taught that techniques are methods of concentrating conceptual weight into specific actions. You have grown heavy enough that you can achieve things without resorting to clever manipulations.”
Hector pondered her words for hours after that conversation. He didn’t have much understanding of exactly what Lords could do. They were revered and feared by all. Everyone agreed that the change from level nine to ten was qualitative and not just another doubling. The only other improvement that could compare was going from level zero – unempowered – to level one.
When he grew tired of cultivating in his room, Hector went to the shuttle bay and began to experiment. With a bit of effort, he could sprint fast enough that his surroundings blurred in his vision. A couple of times he had to use his domain to stop his momentum before he ran through the hull. That caused a frantic message from Cruiser Erin requesting he save his physical training for when he was not aboard her.
It was a reasonable ask, so Hector stopped his experimentation. He’d already figured out what he needed to know by that point. The outlay of cosmic energy wasn’t significant. Instead he had to lean his metaphysical weight into his body. It was similar to what he did when he engaged in conceptual battles.
Hector tended to think of the capacity used in such battles as willpower. It wasn’t, though. Not really. Willpower was more of a psychological energy or willingness to endure. The weight he brought to bear had more to do with his soul’s inherent heft. Back when he first learned to fight miasma, before expanding his insight, Hector discovered the ability to focus his weight through instinct and the sensitivity of a man questing. Since then he had been honing that skill. His dexterity was constantly improving and also the amount of weight he carried in his soul was far more significant.
The weight didn’t decrease with use. It was a static trait – other than the soul advancing and saturating, that was. He did tire from holding that weight in place. That was where willpower came into play. It was like moving furniture. Lifting a couch was easy. Holding a couch in place while your neighbor’s wife tried to find the furniture coasters to avoid scuffing the hardwood floor got old real fast.
Hector didn’t need to ponder the matter any further. There was an obvious conclusion based on his discoveries. He needed to get all of his apertures to the peak of level nine so that he could bring his soul weight to bear in as many ways as possible. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get a read on the current level of his realm. It was a complete cipher to him, even more impossible to read than his externality. The apertures in direct contact with reality could be instinctively measured based on how they compared to the energy density around them. For realm and externality, Hector would only know their level when they hit the peak and couldn’t improve any further.
Mind made up, Hector resumed training the Shuttle Technique. He wished he was insane enough to practice the Sandwich Technique again. He shuddered at the thought of doing that to himself again. He’d just have to improve his aura at a sane pace.
