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My name is Zorknot.

Brad Robinson is just the slave name given to me by my human oppressors. I came to this planet twenty-six years ago, and since then I've been forced to live by human laws and take a human form.

Ever since the eighth year of my incarceration I've been writing, in the hopes that sleeper agents here on Earth will be able to interpret the code I've embedded in my fiction and contact the mother ship. I don't want to leave really, but I miss all my friends from the station and I'd like to say hi.

I've learned a lot since I've come here. Humans are very interesting creatures and I enjoy observing them and writing about them.

I write many different forms of fiction and poetry, but I'm primarily concerned with how humans respond to paradigm shifts, for instance when they realize they are no longer a communications consultant for a textile manufacturer, but are now, in fact, a turkey sandwich. Many people don't realize how many social and cultural implications there are for becoming a food product. And there's also the question of identity. At what point during the digestion process does a turkey sandwich cease to be a turkey sandwich and become something vile and unsanitary?When I'm not writing, I am usually attempting to decipher the primitive human texts on physical laws, which has proven quite illuminating. Sure even the greatest human physicist wouldn't know the difference between an Attenuating Scatological Synthesizer and a Hadron Oscillation Loop Enhancer in the Grand Resonance Orbital Ubiquity Nullification Device, but there is an awful lot that my culture has forgotten or has passed beyond in the race to conquer unsuspecting planets. Slime for instance. I find slime extremely interesting. We don't have slime back on the home world. Everything's extremely clean and dry.

Imagine a hospital bathroom made of chalk. That's home for me.I am the member of several writer's programs, but I am not a published author. Many of my stories are simply not fit for human consumption. They are so good that were I to release them into the public, riots would ensue and civilization would collapse. I'm working to develop a writing style that will be just good enough to be enjoyable, without completely wrecking the human value system. This has proven difficult, but it is absolutely essential. I must not go against the prime directive.

Unless of course I might die otherwise. Or a female being that I find especially appealing asks me to in a suggestive manner. Other than that, though, no prime directive going againsting.

 
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"Num" by Jacks
Aaron spends his time writing between other endeavors; as an ex-rodeo clown, he has been known to dress in full costume to entertain hospitalized children, and to serve homemade soup to the homeless in a local shelter.  He spent several years flying a rescue helicopter in the Denver area, and much of his writing is based on the harrowing adventures on and around the majestic Rockies. He's reticent to speak of his years as a CIA agent-in-training, though hints at an undercover operation in Las Vegas that involved fish net tights and head feathers.  His unauthorized biography is due out soon.
 

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