G. K. Hawk

“ Allison didn't answer. He shivered and pushed another inquisitive finger at the control board; the finger selected a certain button and pushed it steadily. There was no click of a hidden relay, no whir of little motors springing to life.
"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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ When you have them, bring them to me at the ship. And keep on gathering them until I tell you to stop."
Allison stood still in the deep snow, peering suspiciously at Endicott through the snow-swirl. "Is this something from the old—?"
"Never mind that now, Allison," Endicott said patiently. "Let's not worry about all that twaddle. You want to be warm, don't you? So, just do as I say."
Allison's eyebrows shot up and lowered instantly, and his face set in stubborn planes. "If this is from the old days I'm not sure I want any part of it." He looked furtively over his shoulders at the gloomy woods. ”