Fifteen of the figurines lay in a row against the far wall of Hoagland’s workshop.

With a tiny pair of pliers Hoagland pried open the back of the doll-like structure and saw, within, intricate wiring. “The boy was right,” he said to Bob Turk, who stood behind him smoking a synthetic tobacco cigarette in jerky agitation. “It’s not a doll ; it’s fully rigged. Might be UN property they stole; might even be a microrob. You know, one of those special autonomic mechanisms the government uses for a million tasks from spying to reconstruct surgery for war vets.”

(Microrob from 'A Game of Unchance' by Philip K. Dick)

A microscopic switch, disguised as the belt buckle of the figurine . . . exulting, Hoagland closed the switch with his needle-nose pliers, set the figurine down on his workbench and waited.

The figurine stirred. It reached into a pouch-like construct hanging at its side, a sort of purse; from the pouch it brought a tiny tube, which it pointed at Hoa,gland.