46
“How long have we been here?” Anlyn asked.
“Five hundred eighty two thousand four hundred and fifty two seconds,” Edison said. “Approximately.”
Anlyn sighed. “How long in a format I understand?”
“Three hundred seventy six thousand and forty two Hori berts.”
“In days, love.”
“Oh. A fraction less than six Earth days.”
Anlyn groaned. The three hour shifts had gradually whittled down to hour shifts, as both of them reached the limits of their endurance. They took turns passing out where they sat, the sleep seeming to zip by in an eyeblink while the waking hour stretched out forever. Anlyn had spent more time talking to herself the last week than they had spent talking to each other, and she felt half insane because of it. It wouldn’t have been so miserable if the fleet wasn’t constantly shuffling around the incoming ships and moving the queue toward the rift. If they could just engage the autopilot and get a half day of rest, she would be fine for another few days of flying.
The radio squawked with instructions, and she watched as Edison responded his receipt of the transmission. As bad as she had it, Edison’s task as translator made it much worse for him. Often, he woke up halfway through a transmission, and Anlyn had to phonetically repeat what he’d missed. They both operated in a dreamlike haze of sleep deprivation, made worse by the annoying snowstorm outside that never so much as wavered.
Anlyn shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn’t remember how many shifts ago she’d last showered, or even ate. The only break in her routine had been to sip water and use the bathroom. It was a Wadi’s diet, no different than her years with Albert, and she felt as chained to a cockpit now as she ever had back then.
“How close are we?” she asked.
“N minus forty two.”
“Forty one ships ahead of us,” she thought aloud. “They’ve been going through about one per hour or so?”
“Approximately.”
Anlyn groaned again. It had become as habitual to her as breathing. “Another two days.”
“Slightly less, so reduce your anxiety proportionately.”
Anlyn reached over and squeezed his arm. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better,” she mumbled, “but why don’t you get some sleep?”
Edison patted her hand. “This shift is mine, love,” he said in Drenard.
“Are you sure? I feel like I just woke up.”
“I’m positive.”
Anlyn sighed and leaned to the side, resting her head on his forearm.
“Wake me if you need me,” she whispered, as the blackness of sudden and immediate sleep began to swirl up around her.
“I need you,” Edison said softly.
“I’ll always need you.”
But she was already asleep.