"How long has it been since we crashed on this god-forsaken planet," the old man asked his robot companion.
"Forty-one years, nine months, twelve days, and... my apologies, my chronometer isn't so accurate these days."
"And no hope of rescue."
The robot shrugged. "That's the danger of superluminal exploration. Our distress signal won't reach human space for another hundred years."
"At least you'll still be there to tell them what happened," the human said. They didn't have the heart to tell him the only thing that kept them going was the man's maintenance, something they couldn't do themself.
YOU ARE READING
Everyday DrabblesShort Story
A drabble is a very short story one hundred words long. No more, no less. They are designed for maximum impact in the least amount of space. For 2019, I'll be posting a drabble every day.