Page 98 of Trip Me Up

“No photos,” Niall snapped. Then he blinked. “Sorry, habit. I’ll be right there.”

He kissed my forehead. “I’ll just be a minute. Stay here. We should talk. And celebrate. You’ll delay your flight, right?”

I couldn’t delay. Not one minute. I had to get out of there to stop Heidi from breaking the news. She had an award-winning book. Two. So what if an A.I. had written one of them? The world didn’t have to know. Martell and I could bury it in a paper in an obscure scientific journal. He’d get his accolades from the scientific community, and we’d stay off the front page of the Technology section. I’d stay off Page Six.

Still, I nodded. What was one more lie, piled on top of the mountain of them?

With a last, searching look, Niall headed off toward the cameras and lights.

My phone vibrated, and I looked down at it automatically. A news alert on my name.

Science Fiction Becomes Reality: Award-winning Book ‘Magician in the Machine’ Written by Artificial Intelligence.

My heart stopped. I had to try three times to get my trembling fingers to scroll to read the story.

Sciencefiction and fantasy publisher Happy Troll announced today that last fall’s release,Magician in the Machine,was not written by author Sam Case but was created by the artificial intelligence program CASE, designed by computer science professor Dr. John Martell and graduate student Samantha Renée Jones.

I swiped away the story. I was too late.

I had to go.

My knees wobbly, I turned toward the nearest exit sign. Home. I’d go back to my apartment and figure out what to do next. How to bury the news about CASE while salvaging the rest of my life. Because this life—the lying, the public speaking—was over.

No relief lifted my heart. It was heavy, anchoring me to the floor backstage. Still, I had to leave. I couldn’t tarnish the celebration of art with my presence. I didn’t deserve Niall. I didn’t deserve any of them.

Clutching Bilbo Baggins, I pushed out the stage door into the alley behind the hotel. The door shut with a clank, isolating me with the pungent smell of cooked garbage from a nearby dumpster. I turned left toward the street and its waiting line of taxis.

But when I reached the sidewalk, I found a line of people. The show at the casino next door must’ve ended because a mass of people with wigs of every imaginable variety—sparkly ones, feathered ones, curly ones, rainbow ones—clumped together, jostling over the cabs.

In the movies, the tearful heroine always ran right into a car. She didn’t have to wait behind a group of stunning older ladies in sandals and beaded silver wigs. At least in this crowd, no one would ever spot me.

“Sam!” A familiar voice rose over the ladies’ voices and clacking beads. Niall pushed through the crowd. A few formally dressed people, one with a video camera on his shoulder, followed him.

“You forgot your prize.” Niall held out the glass trophy.

A bright light blinded me. The red LED of the video camera flashed on.

“Niall Flynn, a few words forFantasy Weeklyabout your Tower Prize win?” A black-gowned woman held out her phone. The silver wigs turned to stare.

“Just a second,” Niall said. “Sam, where are you—Are you leaving?”

“Sam!” A dark-haired woman in a red dress held up her phone to snap a picture or video. “Kari Singh fromGossip Grrlz.Is it true? Did artificial intelligence writeMagician in the Machine?”

I opened my mouth, but no words escaped my closed-up throat. I scanned Niall for the last time, saving his image in my memory. I’d pull it up again someday when it didn’t hurt so much. Bilbo Baggins yipped inside my bag.

The blogger turned to Niall. “Niall, how do you feel about a book written by artificial intelligence?”

---