The cue that signalled the beginning of OSsein unit no. 700’s shift shattered the silence of the room as a falling boulder might disturb the uniform surface of a lake. The pulsating shriek was a penetrating sound, one not easily discounted by the mind. Indeed, in a human -- or any biological creature with a perception of sound for that matter--, it would have been the source of excruciating pain. Here, however, there were no humans to call for the deafening of the acute pitch, the racket which would have rendered the average Earth occupying creature unconscious. Indeed, the majority of biological matter had disappeared from Artificial Planetoid 66703’s corridors long ago, and this was probably to the benefit of the station. An excess of organic matter would be to the detriment of the station’s prime function -- energy collection, so it was not designed as a habitable environment, and thus, all its components essentially operated in a vacuum. Occasionally, a pocket of Nitrogen might crop up due to a leak in the coolant pipe, and a few surviving cells would get into the minor systems, impairing their functionality, but such occurrences were quickly met with attention by one of 300 OSsein units operational at any given time. This was, in fact, one of the primary functions of the intelligent devices which roamed the framework of steel pipes and computer cores, as it became clear to the engineers of the power plant in the early design phases of the project that malfunctions would be bound to happen, and it would be only a matter of time before these impairments became irreversible. It would be unthinkable to station humans on such a tightly designed leviathan-- there was no room for error (something people were quite capable of), so, the OSsein units were designed! It was perhaps fitting that their names were derived from a Latin word meaning “bony”, because as the unit’s now illuminated pod lowered onto the ring-like catwalk that hugged the girth of the hibernation chamber seemed to hobble around like model skeletons, moving stiffly with a slight wobble that resembled the movement of wind chimes. As 700 approached the single shining panel that covered a large portion of the wall, he spoke into a device on a nearby station. “Hellllo, computer! May I have a status report on the main main reactor array? I’m quite tired, and I did not have pleasant dreams, so, if you would be extra cooperative I would be much obliged!” the robot chirruped in a masculine tone, reminiscent of a playful adolescent’s plea. With a pleasant and rather archaic chime, an aperture on the nearby terminal opened, and an arm with a data port attached itself to the socket on 700’s chestplate. “Not feeling talkative today, eh?” the automaton inquired curtly, as his eyes (two apertures emitting shafts of light) shifted their attention toward the display on his arm. Ah, that was the reason for MAIN’s unusual silence! --700 contemplated-- She’d hardly be able to speak if her vocal subroutines were malfunctioning! This had happened before, and it was easily fixable, but today the task was impossible. There were too many other important tasks to complete, and certainly the issue would mended shortly by another unit. “Well, this is quite a nice change! I’m free of your incessant chatter for once!” The terminal let out a sour note, and the data port withdrew to its place, and the surrounding aperture sealed the hole. 700 stepped cautiously into a nearby pipe, and he was swiftly sent away to the main access gate.