Alphonse Geppetto looked sorta like a toymaker. I thought that was neat, since he told me he was going into the kiddie business after retiring from Special Dimensions.

"Is-ah, kinda thing to keep busy once I get out of here, Mic."

Everybody calls me Mic. Short for M.I.C.A.I.N., an acronym for Mobile, Independently Cognate and Artificially Intelligent Nano-factory, rather a mouthful. My Petri dish was on the desk, so he was able to just talk, and I replied by sending text to the PC monitor there.

"Twelve years is a long time, Al. I'll miss not seeing you around here."

Alphonse chuckled and adjusted the gold pence-nez glasses he affected. "Wish I could say ahm, the same, but I-um, never actually see you, just maybe you petri-dish, like now. You just too small for me, even if we do talk a lot online."

He wasn't being insulting. I'm only twelve Angstroms long, a nanobot A.I. Nobody "sees" me without a microscope. Our departments were right next door to each other, and we had logged a lot of chat time together, working on the same projects and such.

"See, I figure like this, I use some of the not-so-good miniature automation ideas I had for projects, but as ah, toys, maybe work pretty good. Like in the old times – toy tanks, fire trucks, all like that. You come by the shop I rented, I show you my examples."

"I'll do that," I texted, "sounds like you've been planning this out for a while. You saved enough money for a storefront?"

"Well, I tell you, it was ah, tight, but I got a loan. You come by, okay?"

"Actually, I can do that nowadays. I've had a manikin-form Waldo for the last few months. So I can get around without Paul and his lunch-pail express."

Paul was my assistant at Special Dimensions, still is. Good for screwdriver work, and getting me in and out of the circuit boards I troubleshoot. I procured the Waldo so that I wouldn't have to be carted around every time I went out.

"You gotta deal. I need to get back to packing up now, but you come soon."

I really meant to make time to do that, but one thing lead to another,including the closing of Special Dimensions. Later on, reopening my own investigations company with Paul, and Sally my trainer/manager,kept me too busy to schedule the visit. So getting an E-mail from the guy recently left me feeling a little ashamed of myself.

It read:

Hey Mic,

I sure miss you guys at SD, You should come by in that Waldo of yours! I have some good stuff to show you, maybe you can give me a name or two, and help me find some customers, ha ha. Here is the address...

There was more; he rambled on for a couple of pages.

The timing of my visit was such that I just missed his beating. The shop door was half open, even though it was past closing time, according to the hours poster-painted on it. I nudged inside, eyeballing the unpainted shelves stuffed with small tin cars, trucks, dolls and all that, before a pair of shoe soles protruding from behind the shop's counter caught my eye.

Hearing someone moaning, I rounded the counter and used the Waldo's arms to gently lift the toy-maker up off the floor. There was a back room, so I took him there, and set Geppetto down on a frayed maroon couch inside. Another moan, and his eyes squinted tightly then flickered open.

There was blood on his puffed lips, and purple welts laced his arms below the short sleeves of his shirt. He blinked and jerked his arms up defensively, squinting and making a reflexive move toward a shirt pocket.

"You ah, you're not...someone else, I, I think..." Geppetto's eyes closed again, while he took several deep breaths. Reopening them, he seemed to notice the couch for the first time, and sighed. "You pick me up, put me here? I don't see you too good, without my glasses. On the desk..."

I looked to where he waved and said, "It's me, Mic. I'm in my Waldo. Just a sec, I'll get your specs for you. Stay put."

"Mic?"

"From Special Dimensions. Not much to see, not that there ever is."

"Ah, Mic! Scusi," he took the Pince-nez from me and set them on the bridge of his nose with a trembling hand, breathing in and out raggedly. "I'm glad to see you, so to speak. Thanks for ah, picking me up. I'm not ah, have so good a day."

"I guessed. Want to tell me why you were napping on the floor behind the counter?"

"No, no, was a misunderstanding, will be okay; will be okay. Just ah, need more time to get my business going good. My fault. Hey, you wanna see my shop, OK?"

I'd already walked through it, but this I kept to myself, to keep him talking. "Sure thing, Mr. G. Give me the grand tour!" I made a sweeping bow, and helped Alphonse to his feet.

"Hey, you are pretty good with that thing," he said, patting over the custom Waldo with experienced hands. "A mark, ah, four industrial frame with a type three store manikin package on it, and custom finish eh? Pretty realistic. Must ah, cost some money."

"Yeah, a little. But worth it. Pulled the program chip out and built an operations bridge for it that I can manipulate directly when on-board."

We talked shop for a bit. Geppetto had taken the old idea of mechanical tin-toys and updated it with modern tech to make them more realistic and versatile. His tin soldiers could march in formation, executing complex little drills that only sophisticated sensors and programming could make possible.

"See? A kid he buys one, that's ah, good, but over time he gets say fifteen or twenty, and they can do more stuff, Like he's general of a whole army or maybe the president, okay? More interesting to play with."

About a dozen examples goose-stepped in unison across the desk, executed a timely about face, row by row, to thread their way back in a marching band maneuver between their alternating columns. Cute.

"Sell one, end up, sell a bunch to every customer. I do it with swarm logic. Pioneered back in the 2000's, for bio-research and stuff."

He picked up a tin tank from his work-bench and rattled it under my schnoz.

"You remember those firefighting robotics we prototype for the city?"

I did indeed. Squat and sturdy little tank-like automatons fitted with infrared and other sensors.

The idea was, you could send them in through small openings in a burning building. They could 'see' and report on any flesh endowed organisms, eh, pets or people, relay information about that to a fireman, and were fitted with a fire-retarding pellet projector.

A cunning mechanism could shoot the pellets out to target any particular area. The pellets disintegrated when they struck, releasing a silicon-based sheen of flameproof barrier oil. The non-burning oil spread, locking away oxygen from surfaces, suffocating fires. The little bots had a good sized reservoir of the pelleted retardant.

Unfortunately, there were side issues with the retardant chemistry and the idea never sold.

"I, ha, bought rights to the system for ah, nothing before I left Special Dimensions. See? Still gotta some of those pellets too."

There was a big jar of the white spheres on the desk.

"But that's not ah, the thing. I make little toy tanks instead, from the engineering drawings. Looks good eh? Turret moves up and ah, down. Swivels back and forth--the tank shoots dried peas kids put in the reservoir here."

He showed me the fill port beneath a cap on the rear deck of the miniature Panzer. "Is gotta swarm logic, too. The clockwork, she's run by same kinda chip interface as your Waldo."

I oohed and ah'd appropriately. "Must be pretty expensive for a toy though. All that motor control, gearing and such. Even if the bodies are only cheap tin."

"Hey, is not so cheap, just not industrial armor; she's a for kids, not ah, the fire department. Actually, is maybe 100 credits or more, most this stuff, kind of you say, upper end, but worth it, yes?"

I arched one of the Waldo's brows, but said nothing pertinent. Instead, "Sell well?"

Alphonse looked glum. "Well, not yet. Is a problem. My loans, they are, ah, coming due, and my creditors maybe not ah, so patient."

"This why I found you laid out on the floor?"

Alphonse shrugged. "I could use some sales pretty quick, Mic."

"Maybe if you could knock a few credits off the cost of these, they might do better. There may be some other features of the original design that you can strip out. Want me to look?"

Geppetto lit up. "Say, that's a good thought. I gotta transfer kit around here someplace. I get you out of that Manikin, you look into my tank?" Then his face fell. "I can't pay you nothing though. Maybe promise you a share in sales if you can-a help me out, make a difference. Still want to?"

I straightened up, and saluted the toy-maker. "Leave no man behind! For the honor of the Corps! Onward for Victory, all that. Let me at em!"

"Eh, I'll get the kit, then? Hokay, I be right back."

While Geppetto puttered around, I looked at the ledger that lay open on his desk. A Twenty thousand credits loan stood out, from my old pals at the docks, Semperton and company. Looked like Semperton's crew had branched out from numbers and gambling, into the wonderful world of high finance. A few other private loans, mostly minor, were notated, but looked to be more well-wisher contributions, some from family members. Semperton's "collectors" weren't the friendly banker sort, more a brigade of ham fisted gorillas in custom tailored suits.

I picked up the toy tank, which was a little heavier than I expected, and popped open the fill port. Maybe the reservoir could be made smaller. There were no dried peas in sight, so I filled it from the counter-jar. The reservoir accepted maybe an ounce or two, far less than the original fire-bot did, but probably equivalent to more dried peas than most parents would want to see rolling across some kid's play area.

Alphonse returned with a standard remounting kit, and soon had me out of the Waldo, and injected onto his toy tank's circuit board.

The I/O interface was a lot like the Waldo's. I scavenged a few molecules from the board, and layered up a connector for myself and started checking the thing out.

The shop door chime sounded, and Mr. G. put the tank down on the floor.

"Scusi. Maybe a customer. I be right back."

The sensor system was primitive by my standards, but I found connections to the original infrared sensors that brought up a grainy output showing ghostly images of the surroundings, probably more sophisticated than the toy needed, and possibly a source of savings for my old pal.

Some shouting and thumping came to me from the display floor. I engaged the tank's treads and rolled it over to the doorway facing the shopfront.

Oh-Oh. My guess was unfortunately on the money. Two ghostly hate-couture goons were wading around the shop, tipping over shelves and tromping merchandise. I recognized the two, from Richie Wander's P.I. office awhile back, but that's another story. Must have a regular route, like a milkman, I thought. The same tight sharkskin jackets, sleeves extra long to accommodate knuckle dragging.

"Justa nudder reminder how's ting's go when da boss don' get paid on time, pal. Oops! (crash). Hope dat wasn't expensive."

Alphonse cowered behind the counter, waving his hands, tears in his eyes. "No no this does not help. If I have nothing to sell, you get less, not ah, more! Please, tomorrow, I have something, like I said. Please."

The two goons noticed the toy tank come through the door.

"Haw, Haw, Hey look at that, Juke. The toy-guy's got an army. What next, miniature howitzers?"

I remembered something about the fire pellets, and cranked up the turret.

Pink, pink-pink, pink, pink, smoosh. The pellets arced over to where the goons stood and broke on contact. The contents fizzed and spread out quickly over the floor.

Suddenly the goons were knocking heads on the linoleum, flat on their backs,sliding and flopping around like beached mackerels. Trying to stand banged them up worse, a useless endeavor, as the goo, besides forming a fire barrier, acted as a super lube, rendering any surface it contacted virtually frictionless--which was why the fire department turned the system down. Rescue workers and victims alike were unable to stand, let alone effect a rescue, once the stuff was spread around. We came up with a compound that could be sprayed over it afterward, to get rid of it, but that wasn't considered good enough for emergency situations, so it all got shelved.

I called the constabulary via my net link, and retreated victorious to the back room. The tank had a small flag pole on its back end, whose sigil I somberly raised. A nice touch, Alphonse always was great on the details.

Avoiding the shop front, Geppetto squeezed his way into the backroom and picked up the kit earpiece.

"Oh, no Mic. This will just be more ah, trouble. Please I, ah know you want to help, but he just send more. They will be mad, and I will get beat worse."

"No you won't, either. I got me an idea. By the way, you did get the release spray rights with the system package for this, right?"

"Eh, yes, it all was together, a system purchase. The patents, drawings, prototype, all that stuff. So?"

"Tell you in a bit. You got some of the spray around?"

"Sure, the sample bottle came with the package, its back here someplace"

"Cool. Get it out. I called the cops, and they won't like doing syncopated floor swimming exercises with those perps. Just wait till the police are outside before spritzing it around. Those are Semperton's goons.You don't have to tell me anything, I know Semperton. You'll be in the cash by week's end. I'll talk to him for you."

The police showed up, and while black and white taxi arrangements were being arranged out front, I went over the tank circuitry thoroughly and made a few modifications. In the end it would cut some off the cost for him, and get all he could make sold.

I talked with Semperton, and explained what happened to his guys, and what I intended. He seemed satisfied, as long as I kicked in a small supply of the release spray.

Geppetto got me back in the Waldo, and I explained what I had done, and intended. He was also happy, and offered me a fifth share, which I took.

Best investment of the year.

Within three months, half the main street shops had new night watchmen. Little tanks that sensed movement and fired incapacitating slip oil,then called the cops. Heh, even the little marching band goose-steppers are starting to catch on.