The loss of her copilot, a sadness too deep for words, enveloped her. Its smothering shock seemed so utterly universal she wondered how she had not just shut down. Breaths still came and went. Her heart thudded on, either unaware of or despite its newfound futility.
There was much turbulence. It buffeted and kicked the ship like a clique of invisible bullies, picking on her small ship like the weakling it now felt to her. It rocked her with syncopated shoves and bounces, her neck spasmodically jerking to and fro, the harness attempting valiantly to keep the rest of her in place. It felt endless. It felt like nothing. It was happening far away from her; only dimly aware of the cracking and creaking of the ship as it struggled desperately through the intangibility of the forceful space storm. The thought came unbidden and unexpected to her as she gazed, seeing but unseeing, into the stars. Against all mission protocol and seven years of academy training, she haltingly unclipped the harness, turned off all contact channels, turned off the lights, and left the flight deck, holding onto rails to keep herself from stumbling as the ship bounced. The throttles and buttons held nothing for her now but a sick feeling in her stomach. She could not stay.
Softly coming to rest on the polyvinyl indentation made for her head, the relief was palpable. Soon, she will not have to be awake. This will not be her reality. She will not have been halved so cruelly. Everything, Everything will cease.
She entered hypersleep with tears seeping through her lashes. She was gone before her despair could start to close her throat.
She awoke to something she did not recognise. She was frightened.