Rudy Rucker - The hacker and the ants

“So. Stud Lee.”

The Vo family followed me outside to see Studly get out of the trunk of my car. Bass-heavy music drifted down the street from the whipped-to-shit house-the bad dog’s home, of course. I popped the trunk.

“Okay, Studly, time to get out!”

“This is not West West,” observed Studly, once he was out on the sidewalk. “What do you want me to do here, Jerzy?”

“Studly, this is the Vo family. Bow to them.”

Studly raised up on his legs and motored backward and forward to sweep his body through a deep smooth bow. “I am pleased to meet the Vo family.”

The Vos laughed meaninglessly.

“Studly, this here is the Vos’ property.” I pointed to the house and yard. “I want you to defend the Vos’ property from a pit bull dog named Dutch.”

“Where is a pit bull dog named Dutch, Jerzy?”

“He always in front room in gray house at 5782,” said Nga Vo. “Nobody know when he come out.”

“I can make Dutch come out,” yelled small Tho in his T-shirt. Whooping shrilly, Tho ran up onto the stoop of 5782 and jumped up and down until there was some sign from within. Tho turned on his heels and tore back toward us. The door of the run-down gray house flew open and a heavy, low-set dog came charging out, barking furiously.

The Vos and I hurried back up on their front stoop to give Studly a clear battlefield. “ Git him, Studly,” I repeatedly called, hoarsening my voice. “ Git him! Git the dog! ”

The Vos cheered along: “ Stud Lee! Stud Lee! Stud Lee! ”

Except for Studly and Dutch, the yards and sidewalks were deserted. Across the street were more pastel houses, and above them you could see the smog of San Jose, and above that the eternal blank blue California sky with the western sun beating down.

Studly was standing high up on his flexed legs, balancing himself with nervous back-and-forth rollings of his wheels. He had his pincer-manipulator closed tight, and his human-shaped hand was clenched into a fist. The dog all but ignored Studly in his rush toward the Vos’ steps, but Studly pushed forward into the dog’s path and, quite suddenly, brought his fist down on the dog’s head.

Dutch yelped in surprise, then snarled in rage. Studly pressed his advantage and used his pincer to give the dog a sharp poke in his side. “Go away,” said Studly. “Bad dog. Go away.”

The sound of the robot’s voice set off an attack reflex in the pit bull, and he sprang at Studly’s body. Studly nearly toppled over backward, but he was able to spin his wheels in reverse quickly enough to balance himself.

Dutch took that for a retreat, and now belligerently made his stand, planting his feet and putting his head down low to bark the more aggressively. Quite undaunted, Studly surged forward and aimed another blow of his fist at Dutch’s head.

The dog flinched back and Studly kept on coming. He got in a good poke with his pincer-hand, and then Dutch was in full flight. Studly chased him all the way to his house, leaving him sitting on his front stoop pretending he wasn’t interested.

“Come back, Studly,” I called.

The Vos were still cheering Studly’s victory when the gray house’s door opened and a heavyset bearded man stepped out. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, and he had homemade tattoos on his thick arms.

“What the fuck you fuckheads doin‘?” he hollered.

I stood on the sidewalk with Studly, me in my shorts, sandals, flashy shirt, and patterned socks.

“Oh, hi there,” I called. “I’ve just been showing the Vo family my robot. If we’re not careful, he might kill your dog. I hope you can keep your dog away from the Vos’ yard!”

“You keep your fuckin‘ robot away from my fuckin’ yard!”

“Yes, indeed!” I said, grinning away. “Live and let live!”

“Fuckin‘ geek!” shouted Dutch’s owner, but went heavily back into his home, the dog slinking in after.

The Vos discussed all this in Vietnamese for a minute, and then Nga’s mother Huong Vo put the question, “How much robot like that cost?”

“Well they’re not for sale quite yet. But they are going to be fairly expensive. Maybe fifty thousand dollars at first. Twenty thousand for the software kit and thirty thousand for the parts. And if you don’t assemble it yourself, the labor can run another ten or twenty thousand.”

“Who will buy?”

“The companies are trying to figure that out.” To put it mildly. None of us was sure if there would be a market for personal robots at all. For hackers like me, the push to build small autonomous robots was not about financial gain. For us, designing mobile robots was a quasireligious quest, a chance to participate in the Great Work of handing off the torch of life to the world of the machines. But there was no point trying to explain this to 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.