Stars, Stripes, & Strange Blinking Lights

6

Zarin ran clumsily through the wheat field, wincing as the stalks whipped against him. His human body felt slow, heavy, and entirely inadequate for this kind of movement. Every step seemed off, his balance shaky, while Bailey darted ahead like she was built for this. She was fast, much faster than he anticipated, moving with an ease that was almost graceful. Her agility impressed him even as panic bubbled up inside.

She's going to find the ship.

The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through him. His ship, hidden just beyond the field, was half-buried and camouflaged as best he could manage with the limited time and tools he'd had. But if Bailey reached it, all of his efforts to blend in, to keep a low profile, would be for nothing.

He pushed himself harder, his legs burning from the unfamiliar exertion. He could barely see Bailey now through the thick wheat, but he followed the sound of her footfalls. She was too fast. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath ragged. His human form was so heavy, and the uneven ground beneath him only made things worse. The wheat slapped at his face as he raced through it, trying to close the distance.

Suddenly, Bailey skidded to a stop in front of him.

Zarin didn't have time to react—his reflexes weren't sharp enough in this form. Before he knew it, he barreled right into her, and they both went tumbling to the ground. They crashed hard, the weight of his body slamming into hers, and they rolled together into the dirt. Zarin's world spun for a moment as he hit the ground, his limbs tangled with Bailey's, before finally coming to a stop.

The ground beneath them was soft. It wasn't just dirt—it was thick, wet, clinging mud that now coated his arms, his chest. He could feel it soaking into his clothes, sticking to his skin like a parasite.

Bailey swore loudly, her voice muffled by the dirt as she shoved him off. "What the hell, man?!"

Zarin barely registered her words. He stared down at his hands, covered in mud, the dark, sticky substance oozing between his fingers. His heart raced, and a wave of nausea rolled over him. The sensation of the mud—cold, wet, filthy—was overwhelming. He scrambled to his feet, his hands shaking as he tried to wipe the mud off, but it only smeared further across his clothes, making everything worse.

"No, no, no..." Zarin muttered, panic rising in his chest. He brushed at the mud desperately, his fingers trembling as he tried to clean himself. But every motion seemed to make it worse, the mud spreading across his sleeves, his hands, his pants. It was everywhere.

Bailey rolled over onto her back and sat up, rubbing her arms. She looked at him, wide-eyed, then burst out laughing.

"You... are you serious?" she wheezed, "It's just mud!"

Zarin could barely hear her over the pounding in his head. The mud—contamination, filth—it was unbearable. His people valued cleanliness, order. This was chaos, pure and simple, and he couldn't stand it. He continued to rub at the mud, his movements frantic, but it clung to him no matter how hard he tried to remove it.

Bailey laughed, shaking her head. "You're freakin' out over mud? Man, you've gotta be kidding me. You're hilarious."

He didn't understand how she could find this situation humorous. The mud was—no, this whole situation was catastrophic. How could she stand to be covered in it without losing her composure?

Bailey stood up, still giggling, and slapped some dirt off her jeans. "Seriously, calm down. You act like you've never seen mud before." She shook her head, watching him wipe at his clothes in a panic. "Get a grip, Zarin. It's not the end of the world."

Zarin blinked, his mind racing, still unable to process her reaction. The mud was everywhere—and now he was tracking it all over the place. His eyes darted around, trying to find something, anything to clean himself with. His breathing came in quick, shallow bursts. He couldn't focus.