Dekker's Dozen #004

*clink* *clack*

Dekker breathed hard and heavy, mimicking the noises a sleeping body should make. He barely moved a muscle as he silently wrapped his fingers around the pistol that he always kept holstered between his mattress and wall.

Whoever was in his bedroom, they didn't belong. A thief? Definitely none of the Dozen; everybody knew this was his most holy sanctuary.

The only question he wondered, as he listened to the intruder's random shambling in the dark, is how such an inept burglar got past all their sophisticated security systems. The shambling noises stopped; some item had the thief's attention.

Dekker let his vision adjust to the darkness as they scanned the silhouette near his closet. His eyes picked the intruder out from the darkness; he pulled his weapon to bear and sat up.

Ezekiel

"Put your gun away," spat the intruder with a raspy voice. He chided Dekker as if he should've expected him. He flicked on the lights, blinding Dekker.

Surprised, Dekker winced and discharged the weapon, blowing a hole though the wall a half meter from the intruder.

"Wow," he examined the smoking weapon with wide eyes. "I don't remember you shooting at me." Holding the Reliquary, the old man shambled over to the bedside and set the massive gun down on the mattress, examining it in great detail.

Dekker recognized him because of the heavy, bronze amulet that hung from a chain about his neck—he would never forget what happened just after their last encounter. Ezekiel, the self-proclaimed time traveler possessed an identical talisman to the one hanging on Dekker's wall nearby—a gift from his father.

"What are you doing here?" Dekker demanded, still too bewildered to address the trespass into his private sanctum.

"Yes, I see," Ezekiel muttered to himself, giving Dekker no heed. "So that's how that works."

Frustrated, Dekker shook his head wryly. "Nobody knows how it works. And it's been examined by a lot of people but its technology simply doesn't exist." Dekker set his weapon down beside him. He didn't exactly understand what was happening, but he figured the old man was mostly harmless.

"Well not here yet, it hasn't... or maybe not anymore, I mean," Ezekiel muttered. He whirled around to take two large shells from the nearby ammo box. The stain of ancient dirt clung to the old box; it had been encased in clay for several millennia. Unable to locate any more, the reliquary's ammunition supply was limited: about half the box. Ezekiel examined the engravings on a shell casing, about the size of a fist, and smiled. "I remember now: the sequence of Greek alphabetic characters." He chuckled to himself and rammed one canister-like cartridge into the chamber and clicked it shut.

"Whoa," Dekker squinted against the light and snatched the gun away. He safely unloaded the shells. "That's a terrible idea. A double-load is a bad idea, but never triple load it."

"Oh, it's quite alright," Ezekiel reassured him. "I built it. Or at least I will... I think. It's one or the other. I lose track sometimes."

Skeptically, Dekker looked at him and rubbed the sleep from his face. Ezekiel looked exactly as he did when he last saw him several weeks ago. In fact, Muramasa's blood still looked wet on Ezekiel's shirt.

Ezekiel took a strange device from the leather satchel that hung at his side. It attached by an adjustable band which he strapped over Dekker's left forearm.

"What's this thing?"

"I guess you must not know me yet, so you won't recall any of this." He muttered his thoughts aloud, "Yes, that's it; that is why I'm here... It's a temporal phase-stabilizer, obviously."

"Oh sure," Dekker said sarcastically. He fidgeted with its fitting and stood up. He wore pants, but was otherwise shirtless. Dekker always wore pants to bed; he'd had to leap from sleep into action often enough that he'd learned to prepare.

"Don't take that off."

"Or else what?"

"You'll fall out of time." Ezekiel put a cartridge in his satchel and slung the Reliquary over the half-sleeping Dekker's shoulder. "Now hang on, we're going to jump through the Great Engine."

"Wait, what?" Dekker heard a loud knock on his door. With a bright flash of light, like a sudden blow to the head, he felt suddenly heavy, like he was falling, and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Cold. The chill wind startled Dekker to his senses. Slow, like waking up hungover, Dekker felt as if he'd mostly recovered consciousness, and yet, through the groggy haze, a fog of memories, barely perceivable, washed over his brain like a slow tide.

Ezekiel extended a hand to help Dekker to his feet. Craggy plains stretched away in one direction and a rocky wall blocked the other. They walked towards a rising slope; the current scenery didn't matter much to the accidental time-traveler.

"It was..." Dekker tried to explain the haze of images bleeding out of his mind like a fading dream. "I can't describe it."

"The great machine," Ezekiel labeled it. "Don't worry. There aren't words in the tongues of any created beings sufficient to describe it. The gears, the wheels, the sheer power. The raw energy it generates powers this," he indicated the contraption on his back and the device on Dekker's arm.

Awestruck, Dekker grappled with words. "It's like infinity... spinning eternal. Time? Life? Love?"

"The thing about infinity," Ezekiel said as he pointed Dekker toward the nearby mountain, "is that it's not specific enough."

Dekker gave him a confused look. Ezekiel had yet to give him a straight reply.

"Nonexistence and timelessness are both as infinite as an eternal progression of time and reality. It's a dreadful irony."

"But I exist. Time exists. Nonexistence, timelessness cannot be infinite if existence is truly real."

"Is it?" Ezekiel chuckled as he walked onward, beckoning the investigator to follow.

"What do you mean? Would you start making some sense," Dekker demanded.

"My mission. I told you about it when we met at Muramasa's funeral, or, I will tell you about it when we meet."

"The machine—you intend to keep it running? You'd said something about the engine seizing, stopping, or something like that."

"Quite right. If the machine breaks," Ezekiel pointed to a staircase carved in the stone of the mountainside and started climbing, "then the function ceases."

"The function?"

"Time. Existence."

"Wonderful. So the fate of the galaxy, reality, and all time itself rests on my shoulders?" He still barely knew what was going on and such a mission out of the blue had Dekker all but convinced he'd fallen into some sort of lucid dream state. He didn't put it past Guy and Vivian to prank him with a dosage of psychotropic neuro-stims.

"Ha! So full of yourself," Ezekiel laughed. "No, you failed. Err, you will fail? In fact, you need to. It's what happened, or will happen. But in your defense, you were setup, outmatched—that is... you will be."

"What! Then why am I here?"

"Because this has all happened," Ezekiel looked around into empty space, trying to make sense of it himself. "It needs to happen... in my future—your past. No wait, maybe it's the other way around?"

"You're a nutjob, I think."

"I seem to recall you saying that last time too," Ezekiel winked at him and continued the climb. "Time stopped being linear for me quite some time ago. My apologies for the confusion."

Dekker followed him. Still befuddled as ever and unsure if even Ezekiel really knew what was going on. The whole surreality of the situation further convinced Dekker that he was dreaming and so Dekker followed in silence; he looked at the gizmo the time traveler had given to him.

"So how does this thing work, anyway?"

"It's the same technology as the machine. It draws power from it if you understand the mechanical operation. The engine literally fuels it and tether's you to the device on my back. It creates a kind of piggyback system."

Dekker looked more closely at the device hanging from Ezekiel's posterior. It didn't look like much. "So this 'engine' travels time?"

"It does more than that! Time, reality, is infinite. The great engine spins the very fabric of time and reality, but that stuff is linear. As much as it splits and divides into eternal substructures, each nanosecond replicating the whole into another strain, each of those remains linear and, thus, someone could jump to any place or time in reality by passing through the engine. The machine's power allows me to skip across the woven strands and insert myself into them."

Dekker glanced at Ezekiel thinking of him as some kind of quantum superintendent. "So this power that fuels this," he shook his banded wrist, "it's not going to go nuclear or irradiate me to death or anything is it?" He scratched an itch under the device's leather strap.

"No," Ezekiel stated. "There is no danger; it's the same basic energy source as your 'Reliquary' takes. Based on what the future holds, I do suppose that an alternative fuel could be found, although no force is as powerful as the great engine. Perhaps the power of an entire star might do the trick—it might even allow one the capability of a horizontal jump—not through time, but perhaps through space."

"So," he fidgeted with the gadget, "it moves through time or space?" Dekker blew out a breath of thinning mountain air. He shuffled up another leg of steps. "Why didn't you teleport us to the top of the stairs then, instead of to the bottom?"

"Linear time is a funny thing. We didn't do that last time. And we can only do what we've already done before."

Dekker looked at him, about to complain again. Ezekiel stopped him. "We already had this conversation at least once before. For now, we must climb. It is time for you to play the hero."

* * *

A broad expanse yawned open at a clearing on the mountainside cliff. Squarely in the middle, an old monastery stood in defiance of the raw nature around it, and also lived in harmony with it.

Ezekiel paused. "Don't be too free to offer up information," he warned. "You don't want people to think you're crazy." He waved to a man in the distance and then hurried to meet the monk at the temple gate.

Dekker followed.

"As promised, Diacharia," Ezekiel stated. "I've delivered you a champion."

"My friend, you continue to amuse me," Diacharia replied warmly. He was young, but wore the clothes of a monastic priest, an outfit Dekker had not seen in many years. "You are Ezekiel's friend?"

Dekker shook Diacharia's hand. "I know you."

Diacharia regarded him skeptically.

Ezekiel pulled Dekker aside for a moment. "These things already happened. You must simply play your part."

"But Diacharia is the old priest who gave my father the Reliquary. I remember him... I was young, then."

"Where and when do you think he got it," Ezekiel slapped Dekker on the shoulder. "Diacharia, show our friend, Dekker, to his room." He leaned in one last time and whispered, "Just don't freak out when you meet your father."

Dekker shot Ezekiel an incredulous look.

Diacharia led Dekker through the temple grounds. In the courtyard, young men and women methodically practiced Wushu moves as a part of their self-discipline. Across from them, others used wood bokken as swords as they went through a series of Kendo maneuvers with trained precision.

Just inside the monastery, a group of nearly thirty foreigners reclined. They looked earthy: road weary, agitated, and most definitely out of their element. Diacharia led him past and Dekker could feel every eye follow him.

"That was my flock, the ones Ezekiel brought you here to protect." He saw Dekker to a nearby room where clothes had been laid out for him. "You must be tired. I'll let you rest until our next meal."

* * *

Dekker woke to the sound of voices, not realizing he'd been sleeping. The concept of sleeping while in his dream amused him for a moment.

He stepped into the hallway and walked back the way Diacharia had led him. A small group of young men sat with Ezekiel, engaged with intense conversation. The old man, his bloodied shirt now soiled by dirt and mire, waved him over to join them.

"Sorry. I did not wake you," Diacharia said. "You looked as if you needed rest." He scooted a bowl of rice to Dekker.

He graciously accepted the food and examined those at the table. Incredibly, he saw the much younger versions of several men he already knew, men from a past life. Muramasa, perhaps thirty years old, sat next to him. Diacharia had been an old friend until he'd disappeared several years ago, or many years in the future, as Ezekiel would point out—they'd only found a hand-painted red tree on the old priest's floor and friends assumed he'd gone on a private journey—perhaps to meditate on nature—and never returned.

Across the table sat Dekker's father, Jude. Dekker grinned as he ate; Jude was quite a bit younger than Dekker was now.

"Well," said Muramasa, "We certainly agree that the Krenzin are keepers of dangerous doctrine. While their philosophies look good externally, their end result is that they would assimilate our culture and dilute our beliefs, our passions. I think they are still too new to this galaxy to have our full trust."

Jude nodded. "I still can't thank you enough, Muramasa. Despite a thousand secret religions waging thousands of secret wars on each other, it's good to know that we still have friends... that not every religion seeks the death of all others. And yes, the Krenzin might be included in the assumption of the latter."

"Well, we share love as a common, core principal," Muramasa smiled. "Right or wrong, theologically speaking, is moot if we cannot practice that love which we pledge ourselves to. So we can easily pledge ourselves to your protection. Besides, this man who hunts you is also my enemy. He's tried to leverage his influence against my brother in law for years, now."

"Love is the one thing that is true," a young woman said. She walked up from behind and wrapped her arms around Jude. Dekker immediately recognized his mother. "We can agree on that."

"You do know, though," Muramasa pointed out, "The Watchmen would be very welcome in the Jerusalem fortress. No force has ever broken through the great city's defenses. Your group would be quite safe there, I'm sure—given your common ground on certain historical events."

"We'd become useless," Diacharia interjected. "Our mission, what we stand for, demands we remain in the world, not outside of it, cloistered away where our message is silenced."

An explosion suddenly rocked the building. An alarm blared throughout the compound.

"It is them," Muramasa jumped to his feet. "The Druze. Your enemy has tracked you here; we must defend ourselves."

"Hero," Ezekiel tossed a shell to Dekker as the air crackled with another detonation. "You'll need this."

Dekker grabbed the Reliquary and sprinted to the courtyard, following after Jude, Diacharia, and Muramasa. Outside, under the shadow of a hovering platform, the trees burned as Muramasa's men fought hand to hand against the intruders. The monks easily overwhelmed the invaders with superior skill.

After minutes of intense fighting, many of the insurgents retreated, climbing rope ladders back to their hovering transport. A figure appeared on the platform's edge.

Prognon Austicon. Dekker immediately recognized the ageless assassin as he leaned over the platform edge and pointed a rifle at Muramasa. Too far away to react, Dekker watched as time seemed to slow down. Jude leapt in front of Muramasa as the weapon discharged.

Blood splattered from Jude's chest and he and Muramasa tumbled to the dirt. Vesuvius's uncle wrapped his arms around the young man who'd saved him and dragged him away from the battle.

Dekker roared in anger as he slammed the cartridge into the chamber of the Reliquary. He aimed the barrel skyward. Austicon turned and looked into Dekker's eyes, seeing this enemy for the first time in the terrorist's life.

Pulling hard on the trigger, Dekker unleashed a torrent of white, lightning flame. A conduit of intense, emerald energy, wider than he was tall and crackling with power, blasted through the hovering platform, smashing it to atoms.

Hurled sidelong, the smoldering wreckage collapsed to the ground. As the defenders cheered, Dekker ran to Jude's side where Muramasa held him upright.

"Medic!" Muramasa demanded. "He saved my life."

"I know. Now I'm gonna save his." Dekker ripped open his father's shirt. The bullet glanced off the serpentine amulet he wore, deflecting it away from Jude's heart, though it still lodged dangerously close.

Dekker knew how to treat bullet wounds; he'd lost enough comrades in the past that it had become an acquired skill. It looked grisly, but so long as Jude got proper attention he would be fine.

While Dekker applied first aid, Ezekiel picked up the reliquary and gave it to Diacharia along with a hand drawn map. "Take care of this. You saw what one shell does. Two shells will unleash the very finger of God upon your enemies. But never triple-load it, that powerful blast could quite literally destroy the universe."

"And what's this?" Diacharia asked, holding up the map.

"Buried treasure," he replied with a wink.

Several long minutes later, Ezekiel tapped Dekker on the shoulder. "The worst of it is over. You saw him through it, Dekker. You saved his life. Mission accomplished."

"I thought you said I was destined to fail?"

"Not here and now. But we do have to go."

"Don't we have all the time in the world?" Dekker challenged the time traveler.

"Yes, but we can only do what we've already done," Ezekiel restated.

Dekker didn't like his answer, but he stood anyway and followed Ezekiel towards the temple doors.

"I will tell him that you saved his life, Dekker," Muramasa promised. "I am sure Jude will honor you in whatever way he can."

* * *

The humidity clung to the stone stairs in the deepening night air. Backlit by the burning wreckage of Austicon's attack, Dekker's foot slipped and he skidded down a couple of the steps as he trailed after the old man. "What was that all about?"

"We had to make sure that we prevented your father's death, obviously."

"Did we just change history?"

"No! I've already told you, we have to do what's been done already. It's all part of the plan. We are not changing any history; we are just participating in it so that it does not change again. We had to make sure that you were conceived; your parents have only begun to recognize their love for each other. In one year Diacharia will perform their marriage ceremony." Ezekiel paused. "It was a beautiful ceremony, but the lamb was a bit dry for my taste."

Ezekiel continued down the steps.

"So this was all about me?"

"Well, don't get such a big head, but yes. If you aren't conceived, you couldn't be here now."

Dekker stopped. He couldn't figure out all the details in the logic. He assumed that Ezekiel didn't understand them all either.

He chased after the old man again. An unexpected hope sprang up within him; perhaps there was a chance to save Aleel in all of this.