"I can read, dammit! It's turned as high as it'll go...."
"What's the internal thermometer reading?"
Tom looked. "Barely thirty ... and it's still going down."
"Hold on, I'll wake Arnoldsson and the electrical engineers."
Silence. Tom stared at the inanimate radio which gave off only the whines and scratches of lightning and sun and stars, all far distant from him. For all his senses could tell him, he was the last living thing in the universe.
Sure, call a conference, Tom thought. How much more work is there to be done? About twenty-four hours, he said. Another day. And another full night. Another night, this time with no heat. And maybe no oxygen, either. The heaters must have been working tonight until I pushed them up to full power. Something must have blown out. Maybe it's just a broken wire. I could fix that if they tell me how. But if it's not ... no heat tomorrow night, no heat at all.
Then Arnoldsson's voice floated up through the radio speaker: soft, friendly, calm, soothing....
The next thing Tom knew he was putting on his helmet. Sunlight was lancing through the tinted observation port and the ship was noticeably warmer.
"What happened?" he mumbled through the dissolving haze of hypnosis.