By Robert Charles Wilson
Apostat. Fugitif. Conquérant.
Il s'appelle Julian Comstock ; il est le neveu du président des Etats-Unis.
Son père, le général Bryce Comstock, a été pendu pour trahison (on murmure qu'il était blameless de ce crime).
Julian est né dans une Amérique à jamais privée de pétrole, une Amérique étendue à soixante états, tenue de major de maître par l'église du Dominion. Un can pay en ruine, exsangue, en guerre au Labrador contre les forces mitteleuropéennes, pour les dernières ressources naturelles.
On le connaît désormais sous le nom de Julian l'agnostique ou (comme son oncle) de Julian le Conquérant.
Ceci est l'histoire de ce qu'il a cru bon et juste, l'histoire de ses victoires et défaites, militaires et politiques.
Fresque post-apocalyptique, western du XXIIe siècle, fulgurant hommage à Mark Twain, Julian est le plus atypique des romans de Robert Charles Wilson. Une réussite majeure et une critique sans concession des politiques environnementales actuelles.
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Extra info for Julian
He stepped back slightly, shaking his head. “Never saw such a resemblance. ” “No,” Bart lied flatly. “Aldebaran. ” With undiscourageable friendliness, Tommy stuck out a hand. “Say, that bell means dinner, why don’t we go down together? ” Bart felt warmed and drawn, but sensibly he knew he could not keep up the pretense. Sooner or later, he’d give himself away, use some habitual phrase or gesture Tommy would recognize. Should he take a chance—reveal himself to Tommy and ask him to keep quiet? No.
He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the mirror-ramps, a tall thin strange form in a metallic cloak, head crested with feathery white, and felt overwhelmingly homesick for his own familiar face. He was beginning to feel hungry, and realized that he could not go into an ordinary restaurant without attracting attention. There were refreshment stands all over the spaceport, and he briefly considered getting a snack at one of these. T H E C O L O R S O F S PAC E | 61 No, that was just putting it off.
The needle went into his arm. He felt himself sinking into sleep, and, in sudden panic, realized that he was helpless. The 32 | M AR I O N Z I M M E R B R AD L E Y ship would touch down on three worlds, and on any of them the Lhari might have his description, or his alias! He could be taken off, drugged and unconscious, and might never wake up! He tried to move, to protest, to tell them he was changing his mind, but already he was unable to speak. There was a freezing moment of intense, painful cold.