Toys for the office

It was apparent that someone had brought two high-tech looking toys, which Rock noticed as soon as he walked into the coaches' office.
"What the heck are these?" he said.
"They are dangerous toys is what they are," said a young, blonde-headed coach with undisguised contempt in his voice.
They were new to Rock. One was shaped like a spaceship, with yellow plastic gull wings two feet across and a red fuselage about three feet long. The other was a three-foot tall gray plastic robot with a flesh-tone head in a gray helmet.
It seemed each were designed to roll around the floor in pursuit of whoever happened to be up and moving about, which for the moment was Rock.
"Watch out," said one of the coaches, a light-skinned, likable African American with a tight, almost red afro. "Those things will start firing on you, and it kind of hurts."
Another coach stood to demonstrate. He cut between Rock and the approaching robot, which drew a plastic ray gun from what looked like a cell-phone holster around its waist. It pointed the gun at the coach and fired a ray of tiny sparks into his midsection.
"How much does that hurt?" Rock said.
"Just a little," the coach said. "It just feels like a very mild shock."
The spaceship turned toward the black coach after he stood from his desk and walked into a small snack room that connected the assistants' office with  the head coach's. The robot joined the ship and rolled toward the coach, who stood between two small tables, a handful of chairs, and two rows of vending machines.
A coach seated at his desk laughed. "I'll tell you what, Rock, you really don't want them to team up on you."