Not all stories, of course, go through these Byzantine turns. But fictions are like kids, and some are more difficult than the others. I'm talking content here, too-not just marketing glitches. I hope you found "Dancing Chickens" as difficult a child to read as I did to write.

EDWARD BRYANT.

ROADSIDE RESCUE.

PAT CADIGAN.

Pat Cadigan sold her first professional science fiction story in 1980 and became a fulltime writer in 1987. She is the author of fifteen books, including two nonfiction books on the making of the films Lost in Space and The Mummy, one young adult novel, and two Arthur C. Clarke Awardwinning novels, Synners and Fools. She has spoken at universities, literary festivals, and cultural gatherings around the world, including lectures at Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, Massachusetts; the PopTech conference in Camden, Maine; the Utopiales science fiction festival in France, and the Pio Manzu Research Centre in Italy. She lives in North London, can be found on social media, and tweets as @cadigan. Most of her books are available electronically.

BARELY FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER he'd called Area Traffic Surveillance, Etn Carrera saw the big limousine transport coming toward him. He watched it with mild interest from his smaller and temporarily disabled vehicle. Some media celebrity or an alien-more likely an alien. All aliens seemed enamored with things like limos and private SSTs, even after all these years. In any case, Etan fully expected to see the transport pass without even slowing, the navigator (not driver-limos drove themselves) hardly glancing his way, leaving him alone again in the rolling, green, empty countryside.

But the transport did slow and then stopped, cramming itself into the breakdown lane across the road. The door slid up, and the navigator jumped out, smiling as he came over to Etan. Etan blinked at the dark, full-dress uniform. People who worked for aliens had to do some odd things, he thought, and for some reason put his hand on the window control as though he were going to roll it up.

"Afternoon, sir," said the navigator, bending a little from the waist.

"Hi," Etan said.

"Trouble with your vehicle?"

"Nothing too serious, I hope. I've called Surveillance, and they say they'll be out to pick me up in two hours at most."

"That's a long time to wait." The navigator's smile widened. He was very attractive, holo-star kind of handsome. People who work for aliens, Etan thought. "Perhaps you'd care to wait in my employer's transport. For that matter, I can probably repair your vehicle, which will save you time and money. Roadside rescue fees are exorbitant."

"That's very kind," Etan said. "But I have called, and I don't want to impose-"

"It was my employer's idea to stop, sir. I agreed, of course. My employer is quite fond of people. In fact, my employer loves people. And I'm sure you would be rewarded in some way."

"Hey, now, I'm not asking for anything-"

"My employer is a most generous entity," said the navigator, looking down briefly. "I'll get my tool kit." He was on his way back across the road before Etan could object.

Ten minutes later the navigator closed the power plant housing of Etan's vehicle and came around to the window again, still looking formal and unruffled. "Try it now, sir."

Etan inserted his key card into the dash console and shifted the control near the steering module. The vehicle hummed to life. "Well, now," he said. "You fixed it."

That smile again. "Occasionally the connections to the motherboard are improperly fitted. Contaminants get in, throw off the fuel mixing, and the whole plant shuts down."

"Oh," Etan said, feeling stupid, incompetent, and worst of all, obligated.

"You won't be needing rescue now, sir."

"Well, I should call and tell them." Etan reached reluctantly for the console phone.

"You could call from the limo, sir. And if you'd care for a little refreshment-" The navigator opened his door for him.

Etan gave up. "Oh, sure, sure. This is all very nice of you and your, uh, employer." What the hell, he thought, getting out and following the navigator across the road. If it meant that much to the alien, he'd give the alien a thrill.

"We both appreciate this. My employer and I."

Etan smiled, bracing himself as the door to the passenger compartment of the limo slid back. Whatever awkward greeting he might have made died in his throat. There was no one inside, no one and nothing.

"Just go ahead and get in, sir."

"But, uh-"

"My employer is in there. Somewhere." Smile. "You'll find the phone by the refrigerator. Or shall I call Surveillance for you?"

"No, I'll do it. Uh, thanks." Etan climbed in and sat down on the silvery gray cushion. The door slid partially shut, and a moment later Etan heard the navigator moving around up front. Somewhere a blower went on, puffing cool, humid air at his face. He sat back tentatively. Luxury surroundings-refrigerator, bar, video, sound system. God knew what use the alien found for any of it. Hospitality. It probably wouldn't help. He and the alien would no doubt end up staring at each other with nothing to say, feeling freakish.

He was on the verge of getting up and leaving when the navigator slipped through the door. It shut silently as he sat down across from Etan and unbuttoned his uniform tunic.

"Cold drink, sir?"

Etan shook his head.

"Hope you don't mind if I do." There was a different quality to the smile now. He took an amber bottle from the refrigerator and flipped the cap off, aiming it at a disposal in the door. Etan could smell alcohol and heavy spicing. "Possibly the best spiced ale in the world, if not the known universe," the navigator said. "Sure you won't have any?"

"Yes, I-" Etan sat forward a little. "I really think I ought to say thank-you and get on. I don't want to hold you up-"

"My employer chooses where he wants to be when he wants to be there." The navigator took another drink from the bottle. "At least, I'm calling it a he. Hard to tell with a lot of these species." He ran his fingers through his dark hair; one long strand fell and brushed his temple. Etan caught a glimpse of a shaved spot near his temple. Implant; so the navigator would be mentally attuned to his employer, making speech or translation unnecessary. "With some, gender's irrelevant. Some have more than one gender. Some have more than two. Imagine taking that trip, if you can." He tilted the bottle up again. "But my present employer, here, asking him what gender he is, it's like asking you what flavor you are."

Etan took a breath. One more minute; then he'd ask this goof to let him out. "Not much you can do, I guess, except to arbitrarily assign them sex and-"

"Didn't say that."

"Pardon?"

The navigator killed the bottle. "Didn't say anything about sex."

"Oh." Etan paused, wondering exactly how crazy the navigator might be and how he'd managed to hide it well enough to be hired for an alien. "Sorry. I thought you said that some of them lacked sex-"

"Never said anything about sex. Gender, I said. Nothing about sex."

"But the terms can be interchangeable."

"Certainly not." The navigator tossed the bottle into the disposal and took another from the refrigerator. "Maybe on this planet but not out there."

Etan shrugged. "I assumed you'd need gender for sex, so if a species lacked gender, they'd uh ..." he trailed off, making a firm resolution to shut up until he could escape. Suddenly he was very glad he hadn't canceled his rescue after all.

"Our nature isn't universal law," said the navigator. "Out there-" he broke off, staring at something to Etan's left. "Ah. My employer has decided to come out at last."

The small creature at the end of the seat seemed to have coalesced out of the humid semidark, an off-white mound of what seemed to be fur as close and dense as a seal's. It might have repelled or disconcerted him except that it smelled so good, like a cross between fresh-baked bread and wildflowers. The aroma filled Etan with a sudden, intense feeling of well-being. Without thinking, he reached out to touch it, realized, and pulled his hand back.

"Going to pet it, were you? Stroke it?"

"Sorry," Etan said, half to the navigator and half to the creature.

"I forgive you," said the navigator, amused. "He'd forgive you, too, except he doesn't feel you've done anything wrong. It's the smell. Very compelling." He sniffed. "Go ahead. You won't hurt him."

Etan leaned over and gingerly touched the top of the creature. The contact made him jump. It didn't feel solid. It was like touching gelatin with a fur covering.

"Likes to stuff itself into the cushions and feel the vibrations from the ride," said the navigator. "But what it really loves is talk. Conversation. Sound waves created by the human voice are especially pleasing to it. And in person, not by holo or phone." The navigator gave a short, mirthless laugh and killed the second bottle. "So. Come on. Talk it up. That's what you're here for."

"Sorry," Etan said defensively. "I don't know exactly what to say."

"Express your goddam gratitude for it having me fix your vehicle."

Etan opened his mouth to make an angry response and decided not to. For all he knew, both alien and human were insane and dangerous besides. "Yes. Of course I do appreciate your help. It was so kind of you, and I'm saving a lot of money since I don't need a roadside rescue now-"

"Never called it off, did you?"

"What?"

"The rescue. You never called to tell Surveillance you didn't need help."

Etan swallowed. "Yes. I did."

"Liar."

All right, Etan thought. Enough was too much. "I don't know what transport services you work for, but I'll find out. They ought to know about you."

"Yeah? What should they know-that I make free repairs at the bidding of an alien hairball?" The navigator grinned bitterly.

"No." Etan's voice was quiet. "They should know that maybe you've been working too long and too hard for aliens." His eyes swiveled apologetically to the creature. "Not that I mean to offend-"

"Forget it. It doesn't understand a goddam word."

"Then why did you want me to talk to it?"

"Because I understand. We're attuned. On several frequencies, mind you, one for every glorious mood it might have. Not that it's any of your business."

Etan shook his head. "You need help."

"Fuck if I do. Now finish your thanks and start thinking up some more things to say."

The bread-and-flowers aroma intensified until Etan's nerves were standing on end. His heart pounded ferociously, and he wondered if a smell could induce cardiac arrest.

"I think I've finished thanking your employer." He looked directly at the creature. "And that's all I have to say. Under more pleasant circumstances, I might have talked my head off. Sorry." He started to get up.

The navigator moved quickly for someone who was supposed to be drunk. Etan found himself pinned against the back of the seat before he realized that the man wasn't jumping up to open the door. For a moment, he stared into the navigator's flushed face, not quite believing.

"Talk," the navigator said softly, almost gently. "Just talk. That's all you've got to do."

Etan tried heaving himself upward to throw them both off the seat and onto the floor, but the navigator had him too securely. "Help!" he bellowed. "Somebody help me!"

"Okay, yell for help. That's good, too," said the navigator, smiling. They began to slide down on the seat together with Etan on the bottom. "Go ahead. Yell all you want."

"Let me up and I won't report you."

"I'm sure I can believe that." The navigator laughed. "Tell us a whole fairy story now."

"Let me go or I swear to Christ I'll kill you and that furry shit you work for."

"What?" the navigator asked, leaning on him a little harder. "What was that, sir?"

"Let me go or I'll fucking kill you!"

Something in the air seemed to break, as though a circuit had been completed or some sort of energy discharged. Etan sniffed. The bread-and-flowers aroma had changed, more flowers, less bread, and much weaker, dissipating in the ventilation before he could get more than a whiff.

The navigator pushed himself off Etan and plumped down heavily on the seat across from him again. Etan held still, looking first at the man rubbing his face with both hands and then turning his head so he could see the creature sliding down behind the cushion. We scared it, he thought, horrified. Bad enough to make it hide under the seat.

"Sir."

Etan jumped. The navigator was holding a fistful of currency out to him. The denominations made him blink.

"It's yours, sir. Take it. You can go now."

Etan pulled himself up. "What the hell do you mean, it's mine?"

"Please, sir." The navigator pressed one hand over his left eye. "If you're going to talk anymore, please step outside."

"Step outs-" Etan slapped the man's hand away and lunged for the door.

"Wait!" called the navigator, and in spite of everything, Etan obeyed. The navigator climbed out of the transport clumsily, still covering his eye, the other hand offering the currency. "Please, sir. You haven't been hurt. You have a repaired vehicle, more than a little pocket money here-you've come out ahead if you think about it."

Etan laughed weakly. "I can't believe this."

"Just take the money, sir. My employer wants you to have it." The navigator winced and massaged his eye some more. "Purely psychosomatic," he said, as though Etan had asked. "The implant is painless and causes no damage, no matter how intense the exchange between species. But please lower your voice, sir. My employer can still feel your sound, and he's quite done with you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"The money is yours from my employer," the navigator said patiently. "My employer loves people. We discussed that earlier. Loves them. Especially their voices."

"So?" Etan crossed his arms. The navigator leaned over and stuffed the money between Etan's forearms.

"Perhaps you remember what else we were discussing. I really have no wish to remind you, sir."

"So? What's all that stuff about gender-what's that got to do with ..." Etan's voice died away.

"Human voices," the navigator said. "No speech where they come from. And we're so new and different to them. This one's been here only a few weeks. Its preference happens to be that of a man speaking from fear and anger, something you can't fake."