Time

Shorter of breath and one day closer to death...

"Disengage warp," Mouse said. She sensed their hesitation, but after a few moments. The lights flickered back on.
"Why so soon." Argus asked, standing from her chair, "We still have quite a ways to go till Safeharbor. I'm not thrilled about having pieces of that plant on board."
Mouse stood up with a frown. "I know, but we need to finish the zodiac of Calstine and enter it into the record. It's kind of personal for me. Is that so bad? We only have one star left."
Argus opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it. She nodded, turned away and checked their location. "Mouse."
"What's wrong?"
Argus shook her head. "You said we had a star left. What star?"
Mouse cocked her head. "Calstine-4B the right eye of the constellation." Mouse looked at the navigation panel and back to Argus. There was nothing there.
"Did we lose a star?" Oracle asked.
"No," Mouse replied. She hit a button and the panels rotated, revealing screens showing a live feed from outside. "It collapsed."
They saw the light from stars warping in the blackness of space, the only visual cue of the black hole where the star once was. Mouse felt a moment of panic as she ran to the other side of the bridge.
After taking several moments to analyze data on a nearby screen, she let out a sigh of relief. "We're far enough away. Let's mark this as a black hole and go home." She said, her voice getting quieter with every word.
"Sorry, Rhey." Agus said. She sat back down, her twiddling her thumbs as if unsure what else to say.
Mouse looked over and gave a halfhearted smile, "it's just a star. There's still plenty out there."

Time does not exist. The end. Two hours with someone you love can feel like minutes, while a short ten-minute lecture can feel like hours. Time is relative. It always has been, and we've known it for quite a while. To ask me how time works, especially on a galactic scale, makes no sense to me. It's a reasonable question, mind you, but I'm sorry. Time doesn't work at all.
Time is a social construct. It's needed, but every species will have its own way of telling time. Even in the case of atomic clocks, the most precise way of measuring time, the nature of what we call minutes, hours, and days would vary depending on where you were and what species you belong too.
Naturally, another species would use different words, but the meaning of these terms would change if on another planet. More than that, what if you're not on a planet at all? How does one measure a day if a ship has no spin? How does one measure a year if there is no star to orbit around?

Failed Attempts

The Matriarchal Eden have mentioned a few attempts to create a single way of measuring time across the galaxy, but these attempts failed for a myriad of reasons. Some failed due to conflicting opinions of which measurements to use or how long they should be. The main reason, however, is that the universe seems to be against the idea, entirely.
Imagine us colonizing another world, light years away from Safeharbor. These two planets would use the same time zone or, at least, be easily able to convert time to their own time zone. If a ship traveled using only fusion engines traveling from Safeharbor to this new world, and used the same manner of keeping time, the clocks won't line up.
The faster you travel, the faster time ticks around you. The crew of this vessel would likely expect a pat on the back, as from their perspective, they arrived early. No matter how you look at it, time is merely a measurement of change, and it's impossible to get everyone synced up.

How does time work?

It doesn't, and it's a fact of life we have to accept. We use our own methods, and everyone else uses theirs. It's confusing, which leads to misunderstanding and unintentional frustration, but it's a fact. The best we can do is account for dilation, but this must be done with every new location, every new timezone.
What is a year to us may be months, or decades to others. As such. The best course of action is to rely on your own understanding of time. A general idea of a day can be enough to get your point across in conversation, as can any measurement of time.
You know what it feels like for a day to pass, but again, time is relative. What feels like minutes to you could feel much longer for others. It's inefficient, it's messy, and it's impossible to be precise, but it's all we have. I wish I had a better answer for you, but that's just how it is.

Problems

The major issue with time, at least for me, is how it differs from individual to individual. Some say the The Battle of The Pillars and The First War occured years ago, but I clearly log it as an event from two years ago. This problem is only made more complicated in that some battles from the first war are still being fought between the Eden and siliue ships that have yet to receive the news.
Space is big, and it may be that events do not have a clear beginning or end. The war ended here in recent memory, while for others, it still rages on. For others still, it never occurred in the first place, and in some places, happened much earlier than we know.
It's best not to worry about it. Time isn't that important when on the verge of extinction, anyway. Take it at face value, for your own sake. The stress could lead you to an early grave, or perhaps a late one...

When they reached Safeharbor, and docked at the colony of Dawn, Mouse stepped out with the sample of the strange flora in hand. Roadrunner darted forward, embracing his mother with a smile. Argus sat on the dock with her feet dangling off the side as she watched the moon overhead, as if waiting for something. Oracle left, likely to visit his wife in Juliet. Mouse looked around, saw her father and felt the tears well up in her eyes.
After hugging him, he walked with her to the nearest shuttle, and kept her company on the flight to the archive. She told him all about her journey, thus far, leaving out the most life threatening details. He remained in the shuttle while she dropped off the sample and Navigational Zodiac.
All the while, she struggled silently. It wasnt until she stepped outside that she worked up the courage to look up. As her eyes adjusted, she searched the stars for Calstine, a constellation depicting a cat with multicolored eyes. She noticed the eye blinking at her.
She knew the eye would be gone, disappearing from the night sky in a flash of light within 100 years, though likely much sooner. One day, all the stars in the constellation would be gone, her contribution to the night sky a fading memory. The stories told by herself and others would lose their source of inspiration.
She felt small when she reentered the shuttle. She spent the night wondering if it was even possible to make a difference in such a cold and ever-changing universe. Would any of her accomplishments last?