The timekeeper conspiracy
Simon Hawke
216 pages 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." |