LOST ART
BY G. K. HAWK
They lived by and for push
buttons and machines, and
knew nothing else. But Endicott
remembered about the
old, old days—when a man
could save a life without a
push-button....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Stiff fingers of icy, wind-driven snow beat a tattoo on the hull of thecargo ship, filtered through the jagged tears in the metal skin, sifteddown over the useless control board with its dead gauges and bank uponbank of pushbuttons. Amidship, a wind-thrashed branch screechinglyscraped the reverberating hull, and the sound, like the rasp of slidinghatch covers, echoed through the ship.
Dazedly, Allison watched the sifting snow settle on the buttons, eachone acquiring a grotesque, lop-sided, conical hat which grew as hestared. He reached forward an already stiffening finger and brushed oneof the hats away, and almost idly watched another one form in its place.
"Come on, Allison, come on. Snap out of it." Endicott came out of thepassageway into the control room, returned from his inspection of themachinery. "You hurt in the landing?"
Allison didn't answer. He shivered and pushed another inquisitivefinger at the control board; the finger selected a certain button andpushed it steadily. There was no click of a hidden relay, no whir oflittle motors springing to life.
"You can punch that button or any of the others from now until—Itwon't do any good. We're dead." The plume of Endicott's frozen breathdrifted over Allison's shoulder, merged with the sifting snow.
"Dead?" Allison echoed in a sleepwalker's voice. "Dead," he repeatedand jabbed the button again and again.
"In a manner of speaking," Endicott's white-sandy brows drew togetherin a frown. "We're off the powercast—our receiver, I guess."
"No power." Allison was following better, was waking up. "Thatmeans—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 reclininggeeseat, and he stepped to the light metal deck. He shivered andpunched the button on the control board again. He was seized by a spasmof uncontrollable shaking. "No power means—no heat!" Panic crept intohis 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!"
"Now, now," Endicott said soothingly. "Panic isn't going to help usany. All we have to do is sit tight—and wait. They'll send a reliefship out—"
"When?"
"In the morning. Morning, sure. They had us on the 'viewer, don'tforget. They'll know exactly where to look."
"They won't be able to locate us in this white stuff."
"I tell you they know precisely where we are. And anyway the scanviewerwill pick us up."
"I don't think they'll ever find us." Allison slumped down on histransverse geeseat, stared wide-eyed at the drift forming slowly insidethe torn metal of the windward side of the control room. "This whitestuff scares me." He shivered, then got up hastily, his boots slippingslightl