One day, there will be a big sign out there that says “Last Stop before Saturn”

…and I’ll be all, “ah fuck it, I got’s half a tank still, I can make it.”

Then my corpsical will be discovered by salvagers, millenia later, when the galaxy is scalp deep in civil war, and they’ll regenerate me and be all amazed by my ancient sagacity and lack of dirty alien dna in my bones. I’ll be revered as a messiatrix, and lead a great crusade against the hordes of filthy stinky aliens trying to usurp our milky way of life.

The fleets will emblazon my image on their fighter craft hulls and they’ll whisper my name at the moment of their silent explody deaths and at the end, I’ll martyr myself by flying the suicide mission into the heart of the alien system to detonate their star.

Tens of thousands of years later I will be reduced to a bumper sticker on space-SUVs, and they will wonder why i don’t come back to save them from their miserable and boring little lives.

yep.