Form 42-beta and other disasters T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s FoRm 4 2 - B E Ta & oThER disasTERs Thanos Kalamidas 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 An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Form 42-beta and other disasters Form 42-beta & other disasters Thanos Kalamidas Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Form 42-beta and other disasters S amantha Wilkinson had not intended to spend her Thursday morning arguing with a damp- looking alien wearing a tie made of recycled bus timetables, but there he was, flapping his jowls and insisting she fax a document into a dimension that no longer technically existed. “I’m telling you,” Samantha said, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the coffee shop window, “the multiverse fax machine is not something I keep in my purse. I have gum. I have a bus pass. I do not have a time-sensitive trans-dimensional document sender.” The Vogon bureaucrat blinked slowly, as if deeply offended by the implication that gum was more useful than bureaucracy. Thanos Kalamidas “But it says here on Form 12-C Subsection 7 ‘Item G’ that the Earth liaison, that’s you, is responsible for providing all materials, mental stability, and obscure ritual knowledge necessary to complete the Celestial Repatriation Protocol.” “Did you just say mental stability ?” Samantha asked. “Oh buddy, you picked the wrong Earthling.” The Vogon adjusted his badge, which read “Zarblax Quith, Provisional Assistant to the Acting Supervisor of Interstellar Repatriations (Desk 4-B, Subsector Glarg).” It was laminated, which meant this was serious. “Your sarcasm,” Zarblax huffed, “is noted and will be filed appropriately. Now if you would please ingest this language stabilizer, we may begin parsing the forms.” He handed her a translucent cube that smelled faintly of existential dread and lemon sorbet. “Do I eat it or... inhale it?” Samantha asked, eyeing it like one might eye a suspicious mushroom in a forest known for both fairies and lawsuits. “Technically, you let it experience you. ” Form 42-beta and other disasters “Great,” she muttered, and placed it gently on her tongue. Immediately, the cube dissolved, and the universe folded twice over itself, did a polite curtsy, and reassembled into a paperwork-flavoured nightmare. Samantha blinked. She could now read the forms. Unfortunately, they were written in what could only be described as bureaucratic iambic pentameter. Section the First: Ye who doth seek thine stellar ride, Must notarize this planetary guide. Else stranded thou shall be, alone and vexed, In realms where squirrels may speak and faxing’s hexed. She groaned. “You guys rhyme your interdimensional transit forms?” Zarblax puffed up. “It adds gravitas.” They sat together in the corner booth of “Espresso Yourself,” a café where the baristas were trained in both latte art and passive interstellar diplomacy, flipping pages that shimmered, sparkled, occasionally moaned, and once emitted a low growl that made an elderly schnauzer outside vomit in reverse. Thanos Kalamidas As Samantha signed a particularly tricky stanza in blood from a fourth-dimensional pen (that insisted on humming the theme from Cheers ), she started to notice something odd. The forms were not just bureaucratic poetry, they were records. Stories. Confessions. “Wait... this one mentions... Area 51... and a shipment of fusion pineapples?” she asked. Zarblax cleared his throat. “That page is... sensitive.” Samantha read on. “...And this one talks about the Bermuda Triangle being a temporary storage unit for disgraced time travellers who committed... tax fraud?” “That’s highly sensitive.” She flipped to the next page. “This one suggests the Moon Landing was real but filmed in a studio on Neptune because the lighting was better.” “Look, all right!” Zarblax snapped, jowls jiggling. “Yes! The forms contain the full history of unauthorized extraterrestrial activity on Earth. It’s Form 42-beta and other disasters required reading for exit protocol. We don’t want our people forgetting they accidentally introduced disco.” “Oh,” Samantha said, staring at him. “You’re not leaving , are you?” Zarblax hesitated. “...Of course I am. That’s the plan.” “Because the more of this I read, the more it looks like you’re not just trying to leave Earth, you’re escaping it. And not just from humans. From... something else.” Zarblax began sweating in a way that made his skin sound like microwaved jelly. “I cannot confirm or deny anything without proper parchment.” Samantha narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” Before he could answer, the lights flickered. A deep, metallic screech came from above, and the café’s espresso machine twisted itself inside-out and reassembled into a robotic pigeon that blinked in binary. “INTRUDER LOCATED,” it squawked. “INITIATE CLAUSE 37: REPOSSESSION OF CORPORATE MEMORY.” Thanos Kalamidas The barista screamed. The schnauzer imploded. Zarblax grabbed the forms, now glowing like radioactive origami. “They’ve found me! The Filing Enforcers!” “I’m sorry, the what now?! ” “They’re like repo men,” Zarblax said, breathlessly. “But for knowledge . If they catch us, they’ll redact my brain! I’ll be left with nothing but musings about carpet textures and the lyrics to Earth’s worst national anthem!” Samantha stood, her chair crashing behind her. “Come on! We’ve gotta run!” They burst through the café doors as reality around them stuttered and corrected itself. The air was suddenly thick with static and the smell of discontinued breakfast cereals. Behind them, the robotic pigeon flapped once, and the café disappeared entirely. They sprinted down Camden High Street, dodging shoppers, conspiracies, and a mime who winked knowingly at Samantha (she’d suspected he was a Martian). Form 42-beta and other disasters Zarblax pulled a small, wriggling device from his pocket. “I can finish the form, if I transmit from the ley line junction at the British Museum’s mummy exhibit!” “Of course you can,” Samantha muttered. “Why wouldn’t it be mummies ?” They burst through the museum’s side door, breathless. Samantha slapped a security guard with a forged press badge (which read “Cultural Spirit Medium, Tier 2” ) and raced toward the exhibit. Inside, under the dim glow of fake torchlight, Zarblax knelt before a sarcophagus, unrolling the final form. “I just need one more signature,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Yours.” Samantha hesitated. “This is going to erase something, isn’t it?” Zarblax nodded. “Me. My presence. This paperwork clears me off the books entirely. It’s the only way they won’t chase me. I’ll be gone. But also... so will this Us. The aliens. The stories.” The air pulsed with static. Thanos Kalamidas She looked at him. This damp bureaucrat. This ridiculous, sad-eyed lump of galactic regret. She signed. With a flash of blue light and the sound of a typewriter snapping shut, Zarblax vanished. The forms crumpled, aged rapidly, and blew away as dust. The British Museum alarm went off. Samantha blinked. She stood alone in front of an empty sarcophagus. The security guard stormed in. “You! How did you even get in here?!” “I... I was interviewing the mummy?” she offered. He stared at her. “...Right. Out,” he said, shoving her toward the door. She left the museum with a heavy heart and a vague taste of lemon sorbet on her tongue. She checked her phone. The date now read 1987. Form 42-beta and other disasters Her contact list had one new entry: Zarblax Quith – Call Only in Case of Bureaucratic Emergency She laughed. Then the Moon blinked. And that was how it all ended. Except for the part where it didn’t. THE END Thanos Kalamidas Form 42-beta and other disasters Thanos Kalamidas Ovi eBook Publishing 2025 Ovi magazine Design: Thanos Form 42-beta and other disasters 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 An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Thanos Kalamidas T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s FoRm 4 2 - B E Ta & oThER disasTERs Thanos Kalamidas , a multipublished writer, cartoonist and illustrator; born and grew up in a picturesque neighbourhood on the moun- tainside of Hymettus in Athens, Greece. Then his life took him to Berlin, Germany and to London, UK for studies. After a brief stay in Yorkshire he moved his life to Paris, France while working in Tokyo, Japan and in Cape Town, South Africa. In the last 25 years he became a permanent Scandinavian resident and recently, in his glorious sixth de- cade, he moved to a scenic village in the Växjö area.