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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..._
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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.
"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