The timekeeper conspiracy
Simon Hawke
216 pages Ace Science Fiction Books - 1984 - États-Unis SF, Fantasy - Roman
Intérêt: *
Vous pensiez bien connaître l’histoire des
mousquetaires? Détrompez-vous! Sans doute ignorez-vous
que les deux ferrets de diamants remis par Milady à
Richelieu étaient en fait des bombes miniatures. Et à
propos de Milady, aviez-vous entendu dire qu’il
s’agissait d’un terroriste du 27ème siècle transformé
par la chirurgie esthétique?
Bon, reprenons. La série de
romans de science-fiction Timewars, dont
celui-ci est le deuxième volet, raconte des histoires de
voyages dans le temps. Au 27ème siècle de notre ère, la
technique du voyage temporel est parfaitement maîtrisée
et une police spécialisée est chargée d’empêcher
l’apparition d’anomalies dans le déroulement du temps.
Postulat de base: les modifications mineures dans le
passé peuvent être réparées, mais on ne peut rien faire
contre des déviations considérables.
Point de départ du récit: un terroriste psychopathe et
schizophrène, Adrian Taylor, a décidé de causer une
rupture violente et irréparable dans le cours de
l’histoire. La police du temps a appris que Taylor et
ses amis veulent agir à Paris, en avril 1625. Des agents
sont donc envoyés sur place pour contrecarrer les visées
de Taylor.
Très complexe, voire confuse, l’intrigue voit agents
et terroristes s’agiter en tous sens, intoxiquer,
trahir, au point que l’on ne sait plus qui est qui, ni
pour qui travaillent les agents doubles. La police du
temps en arrive assez vite à croire que Taylor veut
provoquer une rupture entre Louis XIII et sa femme à
propos de l’affaire des ferrets. De fait, Taylor a tué
Milady et a pris sa place, aidé par une transformation
physique complète suscitée par une chirurgie esthétique
beaucoup plus sophistiquée que la nôtre.
La police du temps envoie donc deux commandos se lier
aux quatre mousquetaires pour les aider à sauver Anne
d’Autriche. Après avoir fait connaissance avec
d’Artagnan avant même son arrivée à Paris, en l’aidant
lors de la bagarre de l’auberge de Meung, la mission des
deux hommes est de se joindre aux mousquetaires lors de
leur expédition à Londres. On apprend ainsi que le
groupe comptait dix membres et non pas huit en quittant
Paris (les quatre mousquetaires, leurs valets, les deux
commandos du futur), et qu’il était surveillé en
permanence par des hommes équipés d’engins volants,
chargés de les prévenir des embuscades tendues par les
hommes du cardinal (voir extrait ci-dessous)…
Mais tout cela n’était qu’une fausse piste destinée à
écarter les policiers du temps de Paris. Le véritable
objectif de Taylor-Milady était de tuer à la fois Louis
XIII, Anne d’Autriche et Richelieu – typiquement un
changement de l’Histoire tout à fait irréparable. Le
moyen? Milady fait croire à Richelieu qu’elle a volé à
Buckingham deux des ferrets de la reine. En fait, il
n’en est rien, et le terroriste travesti remet au
Cardinal deux faux ferrets dissimulant des bombes
radiocommandées. Il compte les faire exploser lors du
bal des échevins, quand les trois plus hauts personnages
du royaume seront ensemble, occupés à compter les
ferrets accrochés à la robe d’Anne d’Autriche…
Des péripéties compliquées permettront aux soldats du
temps de déjouer le complot à la dernière minute. Détail
cocasse: alors qu’ils viennent d’arrêter, à coups de
rayons lasers, Taylor-Milady dans une galerie du Louvre,
c’est en s’appropriant le fameux blanc-seing donné à
Milady par Richelieu et en l’utilisant pour tenir à
l’écart les soldats du Cardinal arrivés sur les lieux,
qu’ils réussissent à s’éclipser sans trop de mal.
Pas très bien écrit et pas toujours cohérent, The
timekeeper conspiracy n’est pas un chef d’œuvre.
L’auteur fait cependant preuve d’une habileté certaine
pour imbriquer son histoire dans celle de Dumas. On
apprend que Constance est un agent du futur, des valets
sortent des pistolets lasers avec un naturel parfait,
etc… Le plus amusant est de voir des scènes
emblématiques réécrites sous un jour complètement
différent, comme l’expédition des ferrets. Les
mousquetaires, et d’Artagnan le premier, n’en sortent
pas grandis: ils ne sont finalement que des pions,
manipulés par les acteurs d’un conflit dont ils ignorent
tout, et auquel ils ne pourraient évidemment rien
comprendre...
Extrait du chapitre 12
Shortly before dawn, ten people on horseback left Paris
by the barrier of St. Denis. The group consisted of
Aramis and his servent, Bazin, a somber man of forty who
dressed in black and affected a priestly air; Porthos
and Musqueton, his lackey, an amiable peasant of about
thirty-five who was dressed considerably better than his
fellows in his master's cast-off clothes; Athos and his
man, Grimaud, whose taciturn demeanor matched his name;
and D'Artagnan and Planchet, the comical scarecrow of a
man whose aimless, spirited babble more than compensated
for Grimaud's and Bazin's glum reserve. They were just
about to leave when their party was increased by two new
arrivals. (…)
Of necessity, no one but D'Artagnan was to know the
true nature of their mission, since the honor of the
queen was at stake. Andre and Lucas knew, of course, but
they feigned ignorance. As for the other musketeers, all
they were told was that it was to be a mission of great
importance and that they had to go to London and very
possibly get killed along the way. D'Artagnan told them
that he had been entrusted with a letter and that,
should he fall, one of the others would have to deliver
it. Save for a few brief instructions regarding that
delivery, the three musketeers knew nothing. Initially,
Porthos had raised some doubts, but following a brief
discussion of the risks involved and the reasons for
their going, Athos settled the matter once and for all.
"Gentlemen," he had said, "is the king accustomed to
giving you reasons for doing everything that you must
do? No. He says to you, very simply, 'Gentlemen, there
is fighting going on in Gascony or Flanders; go and
fight,' and you go there. No, here are our three leaves
of absence, which came from Captain de Treville, and
here are three hundred pistoles, which came from I know
not where. So let us go and get killed where we are told
to go. Is life worth the trouble of so many questions?"
The issue settled, they departed for Calais, which was
the quickest route to London. Finn had given Andre his
cloak in place of her much more ornate one in an effort
to fool the floaters. It was still dark and Lucas and
Andre rode at the tail end of the group. Shortly after
they left Paris, Lucas received his first contact from
the floaters.
"Hawk One to Ground Squirrel, Hawk One to Ground
Squirrel. Do you read? Over."
The throat transmitter enabled Lucas to speak softly,
so that the others would not overhear him, but they
would not have heard in any case, since they were all
ahead of him and the group was in full gallop. Andre did
not have a comset, so she was oblivious of the contact,
but Lucas burst into laughter.
"Hawk One to Ground Squirrel, I'm getting a lot of
noise. Are you reading me loud and clear? Over."
"You're getting a lot of noise because I’m laughing my
ass off," Lucas said.
"Did you say 'over'?"
"Yeah, yeah, over, roger-willco," Lucas said. "What's
with this Ground Squirrel shit? Who the hell is Ground
Squirrel?"
There was a slight pause.
"What do you mean, who's Ground Squirrel? You're
Ground Squirrel."
"No kidding?"
"Didn't Mongoose give you your call-sign? How the
hell are you supposed to respond if you don't know
your call-sign?"
"I am responding, you nitwit."
This time, the pause was appreciably longer. Lucas
couldn't stop laughing.
"I don't see what's so fanny, Priest."
"Well, Christ, if you know my name, why don't you use
it?"
"Well, it would be a bit irregular, but I suppose
there's no reason why—"
"Look, have you got something to report or are you just
providing comic relief?" said Lucas.
There was a slightly longer pause. Finally, "Hawk One"
came on and said, rather tersely, "All clear up
ahead."
"Assholes," mumbled Lucas. There was no further contact
until they reached Chantilly.
The group arrived at a roadhouse a little after eight
o'clock. They left the horses saddled, in case they
should have to depart in a hurry, and entered the inn to
have a quick breakfast. The only other patron besides
themselves was a drunk who greeted them with exaggerated
bonhomie. They exchanged token pleasantries and nothing
more was said between them until it came time for them
to leave, at which point the drunk lurched to his feet,
holding a wine goblet aloft and swaying unsteadily.
"Gentlemen, a toast!" he shouted, nearly overbalancing.
He clutched at Porthos's baldrick for support, then
lurched back several feet, accomplishing the act,
miraculously, without spilling a single drop of wine. "A
toast to the health of His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu!
Gentlemen, will you join me?"
"I have no objection," Porthos said, "if you, in turn,
will join with us to drink the health of good King
Louis."
The drunk spat upon the floor. "Pah! I recognize no
king other than His Eminence!"
"You're drunk," said Porthos. "Otherwise, I might not
so easily forgive your insolence."
"Drunk, am I?" said the man, reaching for his rapier
and missing it. He grasped at air in the vicinity of his
waist until his hand found his sword and he pulled it
from its scabbard. "Well, we'll see who's drunk!"
"That was foolish," Athos said to Porthos. "Still,
there's nothing to be done about it now. Kill the fellow
and rejoin us as quickly as you can."
Porthos shrugged and drew his own rapier. The drunk
came on guard with a sudden, remarkable sobriety. As
they left the roadhouse with the sound of clanging steel
behind them, Lucas suggested that it might be simpler,
since there were ten of them in all, to gang up on the
man and quickly get it over with. Athos looked at him
with shock.
"My dear fellow," he said, in tones of strict rebuke,
"that sort of thing simply isn't done!"
"Why?"
Athos gave him a pained expression for his answer,
mounted up and galloped off.
"It would be a bit dishonorable," Andre
ventured, cautiously.
Lucas shook his head. "Boy, have you got a lot to
learn," he said. They mounted up and galloped off after
the musketeers.
"Ground Squirrel to Goony Bird," said Lucas.
"That's 'Hawk One,' " came the annoyed reply.
"Says you. Where's the other birdbrain?"
There was a short silence.
"Hawk Two is scouting up ahead. I'm at ten thousand
feet, keeping you on scope."
"How come you didn't report that character in the
tavern?" Lucas said.
"What character?"
"Jesus, you’re a lot of help."
"You expect me to see indoors from way up here?
Give me a break, I'm doing the best I can."
"Then we’re in a lot of trouble."
"Not yet, but you’re going to be. Hawk Two just
reported an armed party about a mile outside
Beauvais."
"I didn't hear anything."
"He's on another frequency."
Lucas rolled his eyes. "Well, aren't your people
supposed to be providing back-up on this ride? We're
still well away from there. Move your agents in and
clear the way."
"They're moving into position, but we can only take
defensive action in case the terrorists are among
them. If they're not, you're on your own."
"You've got to be kidding."
"Sorry. Orders."
"Okay, look, is there another road that we can take to
get around them?"
"No go," said the floater. "This is part of the
original scenario. You've got to go on through."
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