Mike Resnick - The 43 Antarean Dynasties

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THE 43 ANTAREAN DYNASTIES

by Mike Resnick

_To thank the Maker Of All Things for the birth of his first male offspring, the

Emperor Maloth IV ordered his architects to build a temple that would forever

dwarf all other buildings on the planet. It was to be made entirely of crystal,

and the spire- covered roof, which looked like a million glistening spear-points

aimed at the sun, would be supported by 217 columns, to honor his 217 forebears.

When struck, each column would sound a musical note that could be heard for

kilometers, calling the faithful to prayer._

_The structure would be known as the Temple of the Honored Sun, for his heir had

been born exactly at midday, when the sun was highest in the sky. The temple

took 27 Standard years to complete, and although races from all across the

galaxy would come to Antares III to marvel at it, Maloth further decreed that no

aliens or non-believers would ever be allowed to enter it and desecrate its

sacred corridors with their presence..._

A man, a woman, and a child emerge from the Temple of the Honored Sun. The woman

holds a camera to her eye, capturing the same image from a dozen unimaginative

angles. The child, his lip sparsely covered with hair that is supposed to imply

maturity, never sees beyond the game he is playing on his pocket computer. The

man looks around to make sure no one is watching him, grinds out a smokeless

cigar beneath his heel, and then increases his pace until he joins them.

They approach me, and I will myself to become one with my surroundings, to

insinuate myself into the marble walls and stone walkways before they can speak

to me.

_I am invisible. You cannot see me. You will pass me by._

"Hey, fella -- we're looking for a guide," says the man. "You interested?"

I stifle a sigh and bow deeply. "I am honored," I say, glad that they do not

understand the subtleties of Antarean inflection.

"Wow!" exclaims the woman, aiming her camera at me. "I never saw anything like

that! It's almost as if you folded your torso in half! Can you do it again?"

I am reminded of an ancient legend, possibly aprocryphal though I choose to

believe it. An ambassador who was equally fascinated by the way the Antarean

body is jointed, once asked Komarith I, the founder of the 38th Dynasty, to bow

a second time. Komarith merely stared at him without moving until the

embarrassed ambassador slunk away. He went on to rule for 29 years and was never

known to bow again.

It has been a long time since Komarith, almost seven millennia now, and Antares

and the universe have changed. I bow for the woman while she snaps her

holographs.

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"What's your name?" asks the man.

"You could not pronounce it," I reply. "When I conduct members of your race, I

choose the name Hermes."

"Herman, eh?"

"Hermes," I correct him.

"Right. Herman."

The boy finally looks up. "He said Hermes, Dad."

The man shrugs. "Whatever." He looks at his timepiece. "Well, let's get

started."

"Yeah," chimes in the child. "They're piping in the game from Roosevelt III this

afternoon. I've got to get back for it."

"You can watch sports anytime," says the woman. "This may be your only chance to

see Antares."

"I should be so lucky," he mutters, returning his attention to his computer.

I recite my introductory speech almost by rote. "Allow me to welcome you to

Antares III, and to its capital city of Kalimetra, known throughout the galaxy

as the City of a Million Spires."

"I didn't see any million spires when we took the shuttle in from the

spaceport," says the child, whom I could have sworn was not listening. "A

thousand or two, maybe."

"There was a time when there were a million," I explain. "Today only 16,304

remain. Each is made of quartz or crystal. In late afternoon, when the sun sinks

low in the sky, they act as a prism for its rays, creating a flood of exotic

colors that stretches across the thoroughfares of the city. Races have come from

halfway across the galaxy to experience the effect."

"Sixteen thousand," murmurs the woman. "I wonder what happened to the rest?"

_No one knew why Antareans found the spires so aesthetically pleasing. They

towered above the cities, casting their shadows and their shifting colors across

the landscape. Tall, delicate, exquisite, they reflected a unique grandness of

vision and sensitivity of spirit. The rulers of Antares III spent almost 38,000

years constructing their million spires._

_During the Second Invasion, it took the Canphorite armada less than two weeks

to destroy all but 16,304 of them..._

The woman is still admiring the spires that she can see in the distance. Finally

she asks who built them, as if they are too beautiful to have been created by

Antareans.

"The artisans and craftsmen of my race built everything you will see today," I

answer.

"All by yourselves?"

"Is it so difficult for you to believe?" I ask gently.

"No," she says defensively. "Of course not. It's just that there's so _much..._"

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Mike Resnick - The 43 Antarean Dynasties

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