"You can punch that button or any of the others from now until—It won't do any good. We're dead." The plume of Endicott's frozen breath drifted over Allison's shoulder, merged with the sifting snow.
"Dead?" Allison echoed in a sleepwalker's voice. "Dead," he repeated and jabbed the button again and again.
"In a manner of speaking," Endicott's white-sandy brows drew together in a frown. "We're off the powercast—our receiver, I guess."
"No power." Allison was following better, was waking up. "That means—Can't you fix it, Chief?"
"Nope. I tried, but something in its guts is burned out. No power." Endicott beat his old blue-veined hands together.
Allison's frost-numbed fingers picked at the straps on his reclining geeseat, and he stepped to the light metal deck. He shivered and punched the button on the control board again. He was seized by a spasm of uncontrollable shaking. "No power means—no heat!" Panic crept into his voice.
Endicott said nothing but looked at the tier upon tier of buttons, functionless now.
Allison looked at the board, too, his narrow shoulders hunched. "They've never failed before," he muttered through chattering teeth.
"What?" Endicott seemed bemused.
"The buttons. Punch 'em, and you always get what you want—except now!"