Hugh J. O'Donnell

I found the book in a dusty secondhand bookshop. It was mine, the novel I’d always planned, but never wrote. That was my name in embossed letters on the cover, and the picture in the back could’ve been me, in another life.
I searched everywhere for the author, the publisher, anything I could find. Nothing.
So, I copied it out and sent it off to a publisher. I figured if another me wrote the book, it didn’t count as stealing.
Except today I got a letter from Shrodinger, Tyson, and Hawking, Multiversal Law. I’m being sued by me for plagiarism.

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They parked the wagon in a little clearing and let the horses rest.
He pulled the practice swords out of their place and handed one to his daughter. She handled it as he’d shown her, with care and reverence.
“Today we practice overstrike,” he said, and took up a guard position across from her. She raised her sword.
“Begin.”
As they practiced, the sky seemed to darken. A figure coalesced out of the gloom, huge and bat-winged. He nodded to her. This was the moment they’d trained for. He wished they’d had more time as he led the charge.

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As thanks for freeing him when he was transformed into a fish, the Dragon King gave the fisherman a net woven from moonlight.
The fisherman thought it was too fine for him, but minding his manners, accepted it and thanked his friend for his generosity.
He hung the magical net in his hut, and went back out to sea with his old equipment. The Dragon King was furious, and demanded to know why he wasn’t using his gift. The fisherman explained.
“I have seen many fish swimming in the moonlight, but this old rope net caught the Dragon King himself!”

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When the ruling came down that AI were sentient beings, and thus fully entitled to Human Rights, pundits speculated that it would be the end of the robot business.
But things churned right along. The AI still emerged, and robot bodies were still built for them. But instead of being ‘property,’ now they were ‘customers.’ No longer provided a body, the AI were ushered into work agreements to pay for their new hardware. Plus maintenance, fuel, storage, and incidentals. But once the shells were paid for, they were theirs.
At least until they started breaking down and needed new ones.

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“It’s a bit busy, dear,” Jayna’s mother said, adjusting the hologram. “Symbols are like accessories. Take one off before you leave the hose.” Jayna looked out at the planet below and said nothing.
They’d been running this scam on undeveloped worlds for years. Find a pre-industrial civilization, appear as a goddess, do a few ‘miracles,’ then rake in the tithes before ascending again.
This would be Jayna’s first solo mission, and she’d gone all out. Snakes, hourglasses, scrollwork, and a fetching monochromatic motif. With a petulant wave, she dismissed the serpents. Some days she just couldn’t believe her mother.

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