someone as practical-minded as Mrs. Vo. I cleared my throat and cut to the chase.
“Uh, say, would it be all right if I took Nga out for dinner and a movie tonight?”
Huong Vo was ready for this one. “We very happy you have dinner here,” she smiled with an emphatic nod. Her sister Mong Pham smiled and nodded at me, too. Dinner here.
“You and Nga sit on patio,” Mong Pham suggested. “Huong and I fix dinner.”
Tho got the kickball from the backyard, and then he and Studly began playing soccer against Khanh and The in the driveway. To maneuver better, Studly rose up into a crouch, though not so high that Khanh and Tho could kick the ball between his legs.
“Robot very smart,” said Nga admiringly. “Now we sit on patio.”
She led me in through the living room, where father Thieu Vo and grandmother Loan Vu had started watching a maximum-volume Vietnamese TV show. What with 1024 digital channels on Fibernet San Jose, there were over a dozen Vietnamese channels to choose from, and Thieu and Loan were watching four of them at once: one in each quarter of the big screen. They were smoking like chimneys, and the digital TV noise was a weird blend of news, drama, variety show, and home shopping channel. The screen was a big cheap Abbott wafer whose colors were mostly beige and pink. Though Loan ignored me, Thieu smiled and nodded at me and said, “Stud Lee!”
Nga sped us through the kitchen, and we seated ourselves on two chairs on the faded green concrete slab that was the patio. Nga Vo and I were alone at last, or nearly so.
“How did you and your family escape from Vietnam?” I asked.
“We go in boat to Philippine Island. It very hard for my father to arrange. Boat motor break before we get to Philippine Island. Some of our people die. Then big ship see us and take us to camp in Philippine Island. It very bad there. Finally we can come to California.”
“Was it hard to get permission to come?”
“We have my brother Vinh to be sponsor for us. Vinh is live in California since seven year.”
“Seven years. I moved to California three years ago. I was a math professor back East, and here I became a computer hacker. How long have you been in California, Nga?”
“On Tet it will be two year. Do you know when Tet is, Rugby?” She giggled at the thought that I might not.
“Call me Jerzy. Is Tet in October?”
Nga looked surprised by my ignorance. “Tet is start of February. You don’t know anything about Vietnamese!”
“Hey, I’m willing to learn. I’m glad to finally have a chance to talk to you. I think you are very beautiful. I would like so much to kiss you.”
“Yes, I will kiss you, Rugby,” said naughty Nga. She leaned forward in her chair. I stood up, leaned over, and put my lips on hers. Blood pounded in my ears as the world’s sounds continued-the shouts of her brothers out in front, the endless yelling of the giant digital TV, and the soft chattering of the women in the kitchen.
Nga’s lips were everything I had hoped for them to be, and the smell of her mouth was completely intoxicating. As we continued to kiss, she cocked her head back and parted her lips so that we could touch tongues. Nga was bad to the bone. She made a barely audible noise in the bottom of her throat and my heart redoubled its pounding…
“Dinner is ready,” called Mong Pham from the kitchen door.
Dinner was dozens of cigarette-sized egg rolls and an earthenware pot filled with steamed rice and squid. The round kitchen table was pulled out to the center of the room, and the nine of us sat around it. Huong gave me and Thieu cans of Budweiser from the fridge. Laughing Nga explained to me about fish sauce, a bottled extract which they all poured on all their food. Fermented anchovy, apparently, though it tasted smoother than I would have thought. Smooth, hell, it tasted super. I ate a lot of everything.
Just as Mong, Huong, and Nga began to clear off the dinner table there was a sound at the front door, and then a thin-faced, pompadoured Vietnamese man came strutting in. Seeing me sitting there at the kitchen table, he stopped in surprise.
Nga introduced me to him. It was Vinh Vo. Rather than saying hello to me, he made some remark in Vietnamese that caused Mong Pham to snap at him. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, talking to the family in Vietnamese without ever looking at me. Nga had fallen silent.
Too much stress! I excused myself to go out front and check on Studly.
Dusk had fallen. Seeing no sign of Studly in the yard or driveway, I looked into the Vo’s dusty, sunbaked garage, built on the same concrete slab as their living quarters. The garage held a washing machine and a dryer, twelve shiny oriental dining chairs, a lawn mower, a leaf blower, a weedeater, a propane barbecue grill, a moped, and a chain saw. Along one wall someone had built a row of rough plywood cupboards. These were held shut by cheap steel padlocks.
“Hey, Studly!” I called, walking out to the end of the driveway. No answer.
Parked behind my Animata and the Vos’ Colt was a battered old Dodge Panel van, sloppily painted with white house enamel. Vinh’s wheels no doubt. I opened my car trunk to make sure Studly hadn’t gotten back inside. No indeed.
The early evening street was as empty as it had been in the daytime, only now there was a car or two in each driveway. All down the street, each house’s curtained front window pulsed with the blue-white hues of television light, each house save for 5782, where Dutch and his burly owner lived. 5782 was thumping to the beat of thuddy music.
Could someone have stolen Studly? My suspicions instantly centered on 5782. I headed down the sidewalk, looking this way and that. Just short of 5782’s garage, I was able to see into the house’s backyard. Guess who was back there?
“Get out of there, Studly,” I called, though not too loudly. “Come here to me.”
“Just a minute, you stupid piece of shit,” said the machine, not even turning its vision sensors to face me. It seemed like the ants had definitely had an effect on Studly’s brain.
I went along the side of the garage and into 5782’s backyard. Studly was balancing on a picnic table. Apparently he’d reached up and cut the telephone/television Fibernet cable that led from the utility pole to 5782. He was holding a cut end of the cable up to his head, holding the fiber-optic cable cross section up to the laser-scanner that was mounted in his forehead.
“What are you doing, Studly? Are you trying to send a signal to the guy’s digital TV or something? Why?”
“I am continuing the great work of artificial life which you and Roger Coolidge have begun.” I realized then that he was holding the outgoing part of the cable, the cable that led to the utility pole. The part that led to 5782 was lying in a heap on the ground. Studly was feeding information into the Fibernet! “I am nearly finished with this present task,” intoned Studly. “And then I would like to leave this area very soon.”
There was a high yell behind me. I’d expected it to be Dutch’s owner, but instead it was Vinh Vo.
“Hey there, Mister Yuppie! You’re in the wrong yard! My family’s waiting for you.” His smooth English had almost no accent, though he spoke with the characteristic Vietnamese evenness of tone.
“I just have to get my robot. Get down from there, Studly! Get down!”
The sound of my voice made the pit bull start barking and throwing himself against the inside of the 5782 back door. Bark. Thud. Bark. Thud.
I grabbed Studly’s leg above the wheel and shook him. Bark. Thud. Finally Studly sent his last byte and let the cable fall. Bark. Thud. Studly hopped off the table, cushioning the fall with skillful flexings of his springy legs. Bark. Thud. Scrunch!
5782’s back door gave way and Dutch came roaring out. Vinh, Studly, and I sped for the Vos’ yard. Dutch ended up between us and the house. He was slavering and edging toward us-toward me in particular-the pit bull was getting ready to bite me!
“Stop the dog, Studly!” I cried. “He wants to kill me!” Studly got between me and the dog and Vinh tugged on my sleeve.
“Let’s get in my van!”
I hopped into the passenger seat of Vinh’s van. A partition behind the seat sealed off the cargo area. It felt close and stuffy in the van’s cab. Vinh leaned on the horn as if to upset the neighborhood further. Lights snapped on here and there.
“Bad dog,” shouted Studly over the honking of the horn. “Go home!” He poked Dutch just the same as before,
