Free The Judas Rose by Suzette Haden Elgin

cautiously, “would we ever have started Interfacing at all?”
    Heykus Clete had looked shocked. “We most certainly would have!” he’d said sternly. “We had to get out into space, and we had no time to waste. We couldn’t decide we’d go by covered wagon because our feelings were hurt.”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œThat’s all, then, Flagg.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    You had to give the old man one thing (you had to give him a hell of a lot of things!); he didn’t try any of the crap about how it was going to get better and it couldn’t go on like this forever and so on and on and smarmily on. Kony appreciated that, because it was not going to get better, and it was going to go on like this, and all that Kony prayed for was that they would continue to be able to keep the lid on it. It was random good luck that the Aliens felt the same way about the confidentiality . . . they could just as well have gone on all the comsets of Earth at once, like in the ancient films, and said, “NOW HEAR THIS . . .” and blown the whole thing sky high. They chose not to do so. By random good luck. Kony would settle for that.
    He realized, finally, that Antony was discreetly nudging his boot to get his attention; this time he was the one whose mind had wandered. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. If he had fallen out of his chair and lain on the floor laughing, the Aliens would have assumed it was an exotic primitive native custom. It would not have made the least bit of difference.
    â€œSteady, Kony,” said his partner clearly, and Kony steadied. It was over again for six months. The national anthem began toplay again, and Antony keyed in the parting utterances to the speech synthesizers, and it was time to go home to the reservation.
    It occurred to Kony for a few brief seconds then to wonder why, in his making of the list called “List,” he had never included a scenario in which he rampaged through Alien ports and Alien bars, leaving behind him a trail of battered and bleeding Alien toughs. The thought wandered through his mind, was firmly stashed under some cognitive bulkhead, and disappeared from his awareness.
    Kony would sleep now, all the way back to Earth.

CHAPTER 4
    â€œAccording to the radical feminologists, men were directly responsible—through negligence, not malice—for the rise of feminism in the epidemic form which it took in the late twentieth century. These so-called scholars acknowledge the magnificent research of Haskyl and Netherland which proved the genetic inferiority of the human female. They admit that it was the prompt and efficient male response to Haskyl and Netherland’s work, at every level of government, which brought about the speedy passage in 1991 of the constitutional amendments restoring to women their proper and valuable place in society, and formally imposing upon men the stewardship role so many had neglected for at least the preceding fifty years. But they persist—with an almost feminine disregard for the requirements of scholarship—in their claim that prior to Haskyl and Netherland the twentieth century was a scientific wasteland, in which no research or publication in feminology whatsoever could be found. As if Haskyl and Netherland’s discoveries sprang full-blown from the void, owing nothing to the work of others before them!
    â€œThis is manifestly absurd. These gentlemen know full well the difficult circumstances in which the early feminologists were obliged to do their work, in a time when the mere statement of the basic principles of the discipline could actually lead to legislative and judicial penalties; they know that the pioneers of the field had no choice but to speak and write in veiled terms . But they were not silent, and their work did not go unnoticed! Anyone who denies this has failed to examine the history of twentieth-century America with even minimal