The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper Thanos Kal a mida s The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper Do aliens like pizza? Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper Thanos Kalamidas Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper I t was the kind of day that could only happen in Stockholm, which was, of course, the sort of city that managed to make you feel like you’d been transported to another dimension; only in this case, it wasn’t a particularly exciting one. The weather was following its usual script: drizzle, pause, drizzle again, just to keep you on your toes. The clouds, as clouds are wont to do when left to their own devic- es, gathered in deep, philosophical contemplation, as though debating whether humans might ever dis- cover life beyond their little blue dot. Spoiler alert: they were going to meet one today. In a lecture hall. During lunch break. How inconvenient. Professor Hanna Fischer was lecturing on the Fer- mi Paradox that rather nagging question of why, after countless billions of stars and planets, humanity had yet to encounter a single alien. She loved this topic, Thanos Kalamidas not least because it meant she could say phrases like, “And of course, the chances of intelligent life in the galaxy are so statistically improbable that it’s akin to winning the lottery while being struck by lightning on the same day,” and see how many students she could get to write it down before they realized they were scribbling something that made absolutely no sense. Her students, a collection of sleep-deprived overa- chievers, dutifully took notes, their pens dancing in the air like drunken satellites, while silently wonder- ing if they’d ever be able to convince their parents that studying the cosmos was a legitimate career. But their thoughts soon drifted to more important mat- ters, like whether they’d get the chance to finally ask: “Professor Fischer, do aliens like pizza? Or is that a human-only phenomenon?” Professor Fischer, who was under no illusions about the intellectual depth of the question, secretly hoped someone might ask it, if only to have an excuse to deviate from the relentless numbers and equations for just a moment. However, in a cruel twist of fate, it wasn’t the pizza question that was to be asked today. It was something much more unexpected, and possi- bly less savoury. The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper “Excuse me, Professor,” said a voice from the back, which didn’t quite sound like any of her usual stu- dents. It was a voice that, if she were to analyze it in a strictly scientific way, could only be described as... alien Professor Fischer paused mid-sentence and looked up from her chalkboard, not entirely sure if she was hallucinating from the caffeine or just about to be- come an unwilling participant in the kind of absurd- ity that regularly plagued academic life. “Yes?” she said cautiously. The student, who was now standing and whose rather dishevelled appearance suggested he’d spent the better part of the last five hours in a poorly-lit café reading obscure philosophical treatises, raised a hand. “I need to speak with you. Privately. After class.” A small wave of confusion washed over the room, but as any experienced lecturer would know, this wasn’t an unusual request. Students, after all, had all kinds of interesting excuses for why they couldn’t attend office hours, ranging from “my pet iguana is sick” to “I think I’ve discovered a new element on the periodic table and need your guidance.” Thanos Kalamidas But as the student made his way toward the front of the room, something told Professor Fischer that this wasn’t going to be one of those mundane post-class conversations about overdue papers. No, this would be different. She could feel it. Probably because the student’s eyes glowed faintly, and his neck was bend- ing in angles that human anatomy just shouldn’t al- low. “Right,” Professor Fischer said, putting her chalk down and trying to look unfazed, “let’s have this chat. I’ll just grab my...” “Yes, yes,” the student interrupted, “but before we get into it, I must confess that I am... not, in fact, from this planet.” Professor Fischer blinked. “Well, that’s certainly one way to start a conversation.” “You see,” the student continued, “I am from a dis- tant planet, located in the farthest reaches of the gal- axy, beyond the Sable Nebula, where our people have mastered intergalactic travel but still haven’t figured out how to fix a decent cup of coffee.” He paused dra- matically. “My professor sent me here to study your primitive society. Your... barbaric ways, in fact. We’re The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper hoping it might shed light on certain, shall we say, gaps in our own pro-history.” Professor Fischer stood there for a moment, con- sidering the possibilities. She’d had students tell her they were too busy to submit assignments, that their dog ate their homework, even that their internet had been down (which was, frankly, a lie no one had be- lieved since 1998). But she was fairly certain no one had ever introduced themselves as an alien sent to study humanity’s culinary habits before. “Well, then,” she said, recovering quickly, “I sup- pose we’ll need to discuss your... fieldwork and your conclusions over a cup of something. Possibly some- thing that doesn’t involve a deep discussion of pizza. I’m assuming your species hasn’t perfected that yet, have you?” The student, who, incidentally, was named Yor Eska, grinned. “Professor Fischer, you have no idea how close you are.” Thanos Kalamidas I. Professor Hanna Fischer stood at the front of the lecture hall, her arms flailing enthusiastically as she outlined the vastness of the universe with an assort- ment of colourful markers. It was the sort of lecture that made you feel both insignificant and oddly su- perior, like you were being told that no matter how much you fretted about your misplaced keys or whether you’d locked the front door, none of it really mattered in the grand scheme of things. The universe, after all, was expanding at such an alarming rate that by the time you finished worrying about your laun- dry, it would be somewhere in the next galaxy. “Now, students, let’s get back to the Fermi Paradox,” Hanna said, pacing in front of the giant projection screen, which displayed a dizzying map of galaxies and clusters, interspersed with the occasional draw- ing of an alien spaceship that looked suspiciously like an old 1950s diner. “We have billions of stars, bil- lions of planets, and yet ...nothing. No signs of alien life. Which brings us to the all-important question: where are they?” The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper She paused for dramatic effect. The class leaned forward, most of them pretending to be captivated by the lecture. It was, after all, a critical question for any cosmology student. In a room full of people who had decided their career paths largely on the assump- tion that they might one day be the ones to discover the answer to this very question, there was a palpable tension in the air. “It’s like throwing a massive party,” Hanna contin- ued, her hands now gesturing wildly as if she were trying to conduct the cosmos itself. “You’ve sent out the invites. The snacks are prepared. The music’s playing. The space-faring cocktails are chilled, and yet... no one shows up. And don’t even get me start- ed on the awkwardness of finding an excuse when your neighbours pop over and ask why they weren’t invited.” A ripple of nervous chuckles floated through the room. The kind of chuckles you give when you don’t know whether to laugh or if you’re supposed to take this all incredibly seriously. It was, after all, one of those rare moments where your professor had just compared alien life to a neighbourly barbecue. “Some theories,” Hanna said, tapping her chalk against the board with great deliberation, “suggest Thanos Kalamidas that intelligent life is simply too rare to make con- tact. Others think we’ve been too busy worrying about our internet speeds to notice them. And some say,” she added, as if this last theory were somehow the most plausible, “that they’re simply avoiding us. Maybe it’s like the galactic version of ‘We can’t come over, we’ve got guests.’” More chuckles, this time from the braver students, as the tension eased just a little. But it was clear that the students were now thinking about how they would like to meet aliens, or perhaps more impor- tantly, if they could meet one in person without em- barrassing themselves. “Alright, alright, I can see we’re all eager for an- swers,” Hanna said, turning to face the class. “But, before we go down that rabbit hole of theorizing, any questions? Don’t be shy. You’re all deeply invested in this, right?” A hand shot up at the back of the room, and for once, it wasn’t from one of the over-achievers in the front row who always had an answer for everything. No, this time it was from a student who hadn’t con- tributed much, except for the occasional murmured comment about how he was “just trying to survive finals.” The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper Hanna squinted at the hand. “Yes, you, in the back? What’s your name?” “Yor,” came the reply. The voice was faintly, oddly, unfamiliar, and it had a strange lilt to it. Sort of like someone trying to blend Swedish with the sound of a malfunctioning microwave. “Yor, right. What’s your question?” Hanna smiled, assuming the usual was about to unfold, a comment about how much better the universe would be if only we got our collective act together and started send- ing out more space probes. Yor stood up slowly, his hands shaking as if he were trying to hold up a very large, invisible weight. The entire class seemed to hold its breath. “Well,” Yor began, adjusting his hoodie (which sus- piciously appeared to be three sizes too big), “actual- ly, I have a question about, well, aliens.” A silence fell over the room like a heavy curtain. A few students exchanged confused glances, while others checked their phones to see if their phones were, perhaps, simply malfunctioning. After all, no one had actually ever asked that question before, and certainly not in the middle of a lecture where you Thanos Kalamidas were supposed to be learning, not contemplating the possibility of extra-terrestrial life. “Ah!” Hanna beamed, pleased that she had been so right about the whole ‘asking about aliens’ thing. “Of course! It’s what we all want to know about. I’m sure we all want to know, for instance, whether the Mar- tians prefer indie rock over disco, right?” The students chuckled awkwardly, looking at one another to see if anyone else was going to laugh or if they should just pretend they’d understood the joke. But Yor wasn’t laughing. No, he was looking intent- ly at the professor, as if preparing to drop the biggest bombshell in the history of Stockholm University. “I think you should know...” Yor hesitated, his voice lowering to a whisper that seemed somehow both conspiratorial and deeply sincere, “I am... well, an alien.” There was a long, drawn-out silence. Hanna’s eye- brows shot up so quickly that it looked like they might have gotten stuck under her glasses. She blinked twice. Then three times. Just to be sure. It wasn’t the sort of thing you heard every day. Not even in cos- mology lectures. The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper “An... alien?” she repeated, her voice wavering slightly as she did the mental math to ensure she hadn’t simply misheard. “From, uh... where exact- ly?” Yor leaned forward, now speaking in a voice that could have belonged to someone giving a top-secret briefing to a very confused group of people. “Well, I’m from a planet, you see, on the farthest side of the galaxy. Beyond the Sable Nebula. But that’s not im- portant right now. What is important is that my pro- fessor sent me here to study your primitive society.” “Primitive?” Hanna asked, a bit taken aback. “You are you sure you’ve got the right species? Be- cause we’ve been working pretty hard on this whole ‘fancy electronics’ thing. We’ve got the iPhone and everything.” Yor nodded sagely. “I’m aware. That’s why you’re the subject of my study, you see. It’s fascinating. You’ve got gadgets, but you still can’t seem to get your act together when it comes to basic social inter- actions. And honestly,” he added, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “there’s something about your obses- sion with pizza that’s extremely fascinating to us. It’s as if you’ve created an entire culture based on cheese and bread. Which, quite frankly, we didn’t expect.” Thanos Kalamidas Hanna’s mind was whirring. She had just been told by a student, who had not only arrived late but ap- peared to have just walked in from the set of an alien B-movie that he was, in fact, an alien She did the only thing she could think of in that moment. She threw her hands up, as if surrendering to the inevitable. “Well, I suppose we’d better have a proper chat about your... fieldwork . Come on, let’s head to my office. You can tell me all about your primitive research on pizza.” As Yor and the professor walked to the office, the students exchanged baffled glances; unsure wheth- er to stay seated or follow. It was, after all, not every day you witnessed a cosmology professor heading off with a student who had just casually confessed to be- ing from a galaxy far, far away. But then again, it was also Stockholm. And in Stockholm, even the most peculiar things didn’t seem all that strange. The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper II. Professor Hanna Fischer had always prided herself on her ability to deal with peculiar students. After all, anyone who decided to pursue cosmology had to have an appetite for the bizarre, be it contemplat- ing black holes, deciphering quantum mechanics, or trying to remember if the laws of physics actually allowed for time travel before your morning coffee. And those were just the normal topics. But this? This was something new. Yor Eska, the student standing before her in the half-empty lecture hall, wasn’t the type of eccentric that one could easily chalk up to “being a bit odd.” No, he wasn’t a misplaced theatre major or an overly enthusiastic conspiracy theorist. He wasn’t even the kind of person who’d stand up and start making gran- diose speeches about the philosophical implications of black holes, just to get attention. No, Yor Eska had just calmly announced that he was, in fact, an alien from a far-off planet beyond the Sable Nebula. Thanos Kalamidas “Ah,” Hanna said, blinking a few times. “I see. Are you, by any chance, also enrolled in the ‘Advanced Imaginary Beings’ course? I hear it’s quite popular this semester. You know, with the whole ‘humans might be the only intelligent life in the universe’ theme. A real crowd-pleaser.” Yor shook his head with earnestness that was diffi- cult to fake. “No, no, Professor Fischer. I assure you, I am not enrolled in any such course. I’m really an al- ien. From a planet called Za’katik, far across the gal- axy, beyond the Sable Nebula, where the air smells faintly of lavender and regret.” “Lavender and regret?” Hanna echoed a touch sceptical. “That’s... interesting. Not exactly what I’d associate with advanced lifeforms. I would’ve gone for something a bit more, I don’t know, fragrant ?” “Well, it’s a complex issue,” Yor said, looking thor- oughly serious about the matter. “The regret is most- ly from the poor life choices of a very introspective species.” Hanna, who had been listening to students try all manner of excuses to get out of assignments—rang- ing from the classic “my pet ate my homework” to the more ambitious “the gravitational pull of Jupiter The Fermi paradox and the cosmic interloper was too strong to finish my research” felt a certain sympathy. This one, though, wasn’t pretending. He was just... rather good at making her wonder if she were actually losing her mind. “Alright,” she said, placing a hand on her chin, her curiosity piqued. “If you’re from another planet, why are you here? Are you... conducting some kind of ex- periment on Earth? Because, let me tell you, we’ve tried the ‘aliens visiting Earth’ trope before. And it’s not as exciting as the movies make it look. The Wi-Fi is terrible, and the pizza is a bit overrated.” Yor, who had been looking at her with a kind of in- tense fascination that would have made anyone else uncomfortable, finally sighed. “Well, that’s the thing. I’m here on a mission from my professor yes; we have professors on my planet, although they do look re- markably like squishy fungi with monocles. He sent me to Earth to study your society. It’s primitive , of course. We’ve been studying your civilization for a while now. My professor thought that perhaps your rather complicated relationship with food, particu- larly the way you’ve evolved a whole culture around cheese and bread, might shed light on some of the more confusing aspects of our history. It’s very en- lightening. Really, it’s almost as if you’re using food Thanos Kalamidas as some form of social currency. Quite strange, but in a good way.” Hanna blinked. This, of course, explained noth- ing, but she had to admit, it was at least a refreshing change from the usual “I just didn’t understand the lecture” excuse. And there was something about the way Yor spoke, as though the very thought of study- ing Earth’s food habits was the most logical conclu- sion to the entire cosmic drama, that made her feel, for a fleeting moment, that maybe she’d stumbled into a different dimension entirely, one where mak- ing sense of human life through pizza was just part of the curriculum. She cleared her throat. “So, let me get this straight. You’re really from another planet. A place where re- gret is a perfume and food, specifically pizza, holds some sort of cosmic significance. And you’re here to study Earth’s ‘primitive society.’” “That’s about the gist of it, yes,” Yor replied, nod- ding earnestly. He then added, as if it were an after- thought, “And don’t get me started on your habit of putting pineapple on pizza. That, my friend, is a mys- tery we may never solve.” Hanna raised an eyebrow. “It’s called Hawaiian piz-