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Colonization: Aftershocks [Anglais] [Poche]

Harry Turtledove

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As the jet aircraft descended toward the airport outside the still slightly radioactive ruins of Nuremberg, Pshing asked Atvar, “Exalted Fleetlord, is this visit really necessary?”

“I believe it,” the commander of the Race’s conquest fleet told his adjutant. “My briefings state that a Tosevite wise in the political affairs of his kind recommended that a conqueror visit the region he conquered as soon as he could, to make those he had defeated aware of their new masters.”

“Technically, the Greater German Reich remains independent,” Pshing pointed out.

“So it does—technically. But that will remain a technicality, I assure you.” Atvar used an emphatic cough to show how strongly he felt about that. “The Deutsche did us far too much harm in this exchange of explosive-metal weapons to let their madness ever break free again.”

“A pity we had to concede them even so limited an independence,” Pshing said.

“And that is also a truth,” Atvar agreed with a sigh. He swiveled one eye turret toward the window to get another look at the glassy crater that filled the center of the former capital of the Greater German Reich. Beyond it lay a slagged wilderness of what remained of homes and factories and public buildings. Conventional bombs had devastated the airport, too, but it was back in service.

Pshing said, “If only we had some means of detecting their missile-carrying boats that can stay submerged indefinitely. Without those, we could have forced unconditional surrender out of them.”

“Truth,” Atvar repeated. “With them, though, they could have inflicted a good deal more damage to our colonies here on Tosev 3. They will be surrendering the submarines they have left. We shall not allow them to build more. We shall not allow them to have anything to do with atomic power or explosive-metal weapons henceforward.”

“That is excellent. That is as it should be,” Pshing said. “If only we could arrange to confiscate the submersible boats of the United States and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics as well, we would truly be on our way toward a definitive conquest of this miserable planet.”

“I merely thank the spirits of Emperors past”—Atvar cast both his eye turrets down to the floor of the aircraft that carried him—“that neither of the other powerful not-empires chose to join the Deutsche against us. Together, they could have hurt us much worse than the Reich alone did.”

“And now we also have the Nipponese to worry about,” Pshing added. “Who knows what they will do, now that they have learned the art of constructing explosive-metal weapons? They already have submarines, and they already have missiles.”

“We never did pay enough attention to islands and their inhabitants,” Atvar said fretfully. “Small chunks of land surrounded by sea were never important back on Home, so we have always assumed the same would hold true here. Unfortunately, it does not seem to be so.”

Before Pshing could answer, the aircraft’s landing gear touched down on the runway outside Nuremberg. The Race’s engineering, slowly refined through a hundred thousand years of planetary unity, was very fine, but not fine enough to keep Atvar from feeling some bumps as the aircraft slowed to a stop.

“My apologies, Exalted Fleetlord.” The pilot’s voice came back to him on the intercom. “I was given to understand repairs to the landing surface were better than is in fact the case.”

Peering out the window, Atvar saw Deutsch males in the cloth wrappings that singled out their military drawn up in neat ranks to greet and honor him. They carried rifles. His security males had flabbled about that, but the Reich remained nominally independent. If some fanatic sought to assassinate him, his second-in-command in Cairo would do . . . well enough. “What was the name of the sly Big Ugly who suggested this course?” he asked Pshing.

“Machiavelli.” His adjutant pronounced the alien name with care, one syllable at a time. “He lived and wrote about nine hundred years ago. Nine hundred of our years, I should say—half as many of Tosev 3’s.”

“So he came after our probe, then?” Atvar said, and Pshing made the affirmative gesture. The Race had studied Tosev 3 sixteen hundred years before: again, half that many in Tosevite terms. The fleetlord went on, “Remember the sword-swinging savage mounted on an animal the probe showed us? He was the height of Tosevite military technology in those days.”

“A pity he did not remain the height of Tosevite military technology, as we were so confident he would,” Pshing said. “When we understand how the Big Uglies are able to change so rapidly, we will be able to prevent them from doing so in the future. That will help bind them to the Empire.”

“So it will . . . if we can do it,” Atvar replied. “If not, we will wreck them one not-empire at a time. Or, if necessary, we will destroy this whole world, even our colonies on it. That will cauterize it once for all.”

One other possibility remained, a possibility that had never entered his mind when the conquest fleet first reached Tosev 3: the Big Uglies might conquer the Race. If they did, they would next mount an attack on Home. Atvar was as sure of it as of the fact that he’d hatched from an egg. Wrecking the world would prevent it, as a surgeon sometimes had to prevent death by cutting out a tumor.

With the Reich prostrate, the Big Uglies would have a much harder time of it. Atvar knew that. But the worry never went away. The locals were quicker, more adaptable, than the Race. He knew that, too; close to fifty of his years of experience on Tosev 3 had burned the lesson into him again and again.

Clunks and bangings from up ahead came to his hearing diaphragm: the aircraft’s door opening. He did not go forward at once; his security males would disembark ahead of him to form what was termed a ceremonial guard and amounted to a defensive perimeter. It would not hold against concerted attack; it might keep a single crazed Big Ugly from murdering him. Atvar hoped it would.

One of those security males came back to his seat and bent into the posture of respect. “All is in readiness, Exalted Fleetlord,” he reported. “And the radioactivity level is acceptably low.”

“I thank you, Diffal,” Atvar said. The male had headed Security since midway through the fighting. He wasn’t so good as his predecessor, Drefsab, but Drefsab had fallen victim to Big Uglies with even more nasty talents—or perhaps just more luck—than he’d had. Atvar turned an eye turret toward Pshing. “Come with me.”

“It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord,” his adjutant said.

Atvar let out a hiss of disgust at the weather outside, which was chilly and damp. Cairo, whence he’d come, had a reasonably decent climate. Nuremberg didn’t come close. And this was spring, heading toward summer. Winter would have been much worse. Atvar shivered at the very idea.

As he emerged from his aircraft, a Deutsch military band began braying away. The Big Uglies meant it as an honor, not an insult, and so he endured the unmusical—at least to his hearing diaphragms—racket. The security officials parted to let a Big Ugly through: not the Führer of the Deutsche, but a protocol aide. “If you advance to the end of the carpet, Exalted Fleetlord, the Führer will meet you there,” he said, using the language of the Race about as well as a Tosevite could.

Making the gesture of agreement, Atvar advanced to the edge of the strip of red cloth and stopped. His security males kept him covered and kept themselves between him and the ranks of the Deutsche. The Tosevite soldiers looked fierce and barbaric, and had proved themselves formidable in battle. They are beaten now, Atvar reminded himself. They didn’t seem beaten, though. By their bearing, they were ready to go right back to war.

Their ranks parted slightly. Out from among them came a relatively short, rather stout Big Ugly in wrappings related to those of the soldiers but fancier. He wore a cap on his head. The hair Atvar could see below it was white, which meant he was not young. When he took off the cap for a moment, he showed that most of his scalp was bare, another sign of an aging male Tosevite.

As the Deutsche had parted, so, rather more reluctantly, did Atvar’s security males. The Big Ugly walked up to Atvar and shot out his arm in salute. Being still formally independent, he did not have to assume the posture of respect. “I greet you, Exalted Fleetlord,” he said. He was less fluent in Atvar’s language than his protocol officer, but he made himself understood. “I am Walter Dornberger, Führer and Chancellor of the Greater German Reich.”

“And I greet you, Führer.” Atvar knew he made a hash of the Deutsch word, but it didn’t matter. “Your males fought bravely. Now the fighting is over. You shall have to learn that fighting bravely and fighting wisely are not the same.”

“Had I led the Reich when this war began, it would not have begun,” Dornberger replied. “But my superiors thought differently. Now they are dead, and I have to pick up the pieces they left behind.”

That was Tosevite idiom; the Race would have spoken of putting an eggshell back together. But Atvar understood. “You shall have fewer pieces with which to work henceforward. We intend to make certain of that. You did too much harm to us to be trusted any longer.”

“I understand,” Dornberger said. “The terms you...

Revue de presse

Chicago Sun-Times

“If only there were another five books in the series to look forward to.”

“Turtledove has proved he can divert his readers to astonishing places. He’s developed a cult following over the years; and if you’ve already been there, done that with real-history novelists Patrick O’Brian, Dorothy Dunnett, or George MacDonald Fraser, for your Next Big Enthusiasm you might want to try Turtledove. I know I’d follow his imagination almost anywhere.”
–San Jose Mercury News

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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) 3.0 étoiles sur 5  77 commentaires
19 internautes sur 19 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 A little too open-ended of an ending... 6 février 2001
Par Timothy Lehnerer - Publié sur
Format:Relié|Achat vérifié
After following the life & times of a very changed world for seven books, I was hoping for a sense of closure that I didn't get from AFTERSHOCKS. That's the only thing I found wrong with the book, though--Turtledove has done his usual masterful job of extrapolating what could have happened from what did, human nature, and the elements of the world that he changed.
Also, Turtledove drops waaaaay too many hints over the first half of the book about which nation attacked the colonization fleet with nuclear weapons in DOWN TO EARTH, and mentions how dangerous the knowledge is each time it's mentioned. I got it. I'm sure the other readers got it too.
The rest of the book is typically fine Turtledove alternate history. It's interesting to see things like Caller ID or the decades-premature invention of the Furby in a different world, and the usual care has been lavished on all of the different political factions--the USA, the Greater German Reich, the USSR, China, Canada, South Africa and the conflicts between the invasion and colonization fleets. Here's hoping that if there is another sequel series it ends slightly more definitively.
Also, it would have been nice to see alien-obsessed British music producer Joe Meek in the series--the Colonization books take place right around the high point of his career and it's not like other real people never appear in the books.
10 internautes sur 10 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 Colonization - Lightest Aftershocks Imaginable 26 mars 2002
Par Catherine Usher - Publié sur
How is it that a book can take 600 pages or thereabouts to take you on a ride that goes nowhere? I scored this book as 2 stars rather than one because I believe it takes considerable stringing-along skill to maintain the deception of progress for such a duration, hence one point for the book and one, with a tip of my hat for such, er, technique.
Not only that but the story finishes, if such a word can be used, with more loose ends than a mop. As I was nearing the end of the novel, with maybe 50 pages to go, I was thinking "wow, it's going to be exciting to see how this gets wrapped up - any page now, something big is going to happen!". Then there were 30 pages left, then 20, then... well, I got this sinking feeling. Which proved to be well founded.
Will there be yet another trilogy? Frankly I no longer care.
7 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 An ambiguous semi-conclusion. 13 mai 2003
Par Amazon Customer - Publié sur
Having enjoyed the "WorldWar" and "Colonization" books on the whole, I would say this installment - maybe the last, maybe not? - is a fairly worthy continuation. The reptilian Race with whom Mankind is sharing the Earth in an alternate 1960s continue to be fascinating characters in their own right, especially with their new ginger-induced discovery of continuous sexuality now maturing into a more human outlook; sexual and emotional awakening are, obviously, among the oldest themes in literature, but Turtledove pulls it off in an engaging fashion.
One other human trait which seems to have rubbed off on the Race, unfortunately, is gross environmental misconduct: originally, THEY cared more than US about the condition of the Earth, being reluctant to simply nuke humanity into submission for fear of rendering Earth useless for colonization. In the latter half of this series, however, they seemed to throw nuclear devices around with abandon - admittedly, after some provocation in kind from the Greater German Reich and the USA. One wonders just how much megatonnage must have been used to defeat Germany in "Down to Earth" (a war treated far too briefly, certainly compared to the alternate World War II!) As much as all the nuclear tests of the real 1960s combined? And there were the German nuclear attacks on the Race. Surely, there would subsequently be enough fallout in the atmosphere to cause thousands of deaths in its own right, especially in Russia? The author might have been better to concentrate on this particular "aftershock" than on drug-smuggling in the newly-liberated France.
The human characters continue to be interesting, for the most part: Sam Yeager, hardly ever seeing direct action, is now at the center of what could determine the fate of the world. The American astronauts in the asteroid belt embody a truly fascinating question of what humans might have achieved in space decades ago, given a big enough incentive (like the arrival of aliens as a rival power here on Earth). And in the belated but determined Chinese revolution, Liu Han - once a meek and sweet-natured peasant - shockingly evolves into a brutual Maoist inquisitor!
Some individuals, however, have clearly outlived their entertainment value. For example, Rance and Penny have become pretty dull, not achieving much beyond backstreet intrigue and routine sex; Pierre and Monique Dutourd seem intended only to represent "Frenchness" for its own sake; and (though I hope this doesn't offend anyone) the Russie family are no more than a mouthpiece for Jewish post-holocaust moralising. If what Mr. Turtledove wants to write is primarily entertainment, perhaps the constant reminders of Nazi war atrocities could be left to real history books. In this fictional timeline, I think the German Reich has been punished more than enough. Aren't millions of nuclear deaths - to say nothing of the undoubtedly countless burned, blinded and crippled Germans - a rather larger holocaust than the concentration camps? If there is another book in the series, please, Mr. Turtledove, give the Jewish issue a rest!
It would be fun to see if Mankind do eventually surpass the Race and come to dominate them on Earth; maybe the ultimate in vengefully satisfying conclusions would be a fleet of Earth starships arriving at Tau Ceti, to return the favour of invasion. At least, one more book in this timeline would be appropriate, perhaps set around 2000 AD - it could tie up the Chinese independence issue, the ecological impact of plants and animals from Home, and the recovery or submission of Germany. Perhaps the most significant outcome of alien colonization could be a self-sustaining human civilization in space. But if such a book is written, it should be without all the dead wood.
7 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
1.0 étoiles sur 5 Godawful 25 septembre 2001
Par David - Publié sur
When Harry Turtledove is good (How Few Remain, Guns of the South, The Misplaced Legions series), he's very good. And when he's bad, he's terrible. And in this book, he's really, really bad. As the third and final book in his series that should have been called the Nothing Happens series, as you might guess, with one exception, pretty much nothing happens. Subplots are built up and never resolved. And things end pretty much were they started at the beginning of the first book, the race controls half the planet, the humans the other half. The entire 1500 pages of this series could have been told in one short 300 pages if Turtledove had omitted the unnecessary gratuitous sex scenes, endless repetitions of the same themes, and boring dialog and subplots that really don't go anywhere.
I have no idea why I read all the way through this series. I guess I enjoy pain.
16 internautes sur 20 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Aftershocks glorifies treason? 23 mars 2001
Par Robert G Schiele - Publié sur
I've been a fan of Harry Turtledove since the Worldwar cycle of books began and have read that cycle and the subsequent Colonization cycle including the latest, Aftershocks. In general, I like Turtledove's presentation. His characters seem human to me (yes, even the aliens) and the situations, while taking place in an alternate history, are at least believable.
I was appalled, however, when I read Aftershocks. I won't give the whole plot away, but Turtledove has one of the entire cycle's main characters giving certain information to the Race which ultimately costs tens to hundreds of thousands of humans their lives when the Race retaliates. Supposedly, the character commits the act because the Race too are intelligent beings; however, this begs the question. The Race, however lovable and understandable they may be, are alien invaders. In earlier episodes, they completely exterminated the people of Australia as well as erasing major cities in other countries in their attempted conquest of Earth.
I may be old-fashioned, but I think Turtledove has done a real disservice here. For a major (and hitherto respected and respectable) character to do what occurs in Aftershocks with the author's symbolic arm around him as if he were some kind of hero is to carry tolerance way past the crazy point. After the Race's invasion of Earth, and the immense death and destruction they have caused, they deserve anything they get and as far as I'm concerned, any human passing them information, whatever their intention may be, is not only a traitor to their country, but to the entire human race.
I hope that Turtledove does something in the next book to redeem my previously good opinion of him.
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