За разломом орла

           Icouldn’tbreakthetruthtoyouinonego." 

           SharplyIwithdrewmyhand."Shouldn’tIbethejudgeofthat?Sowhatisthetruth,exactly?" 

           "It’snotgood,Thom." 

           "Tellme,thenI’lldecide." 

           Ididn’tseeherdoanything,butsuddenlythedomewasfilledwithstarsagain,justasithadbeenthenightbefore. 

           Theviewlurched,zoomingoutward. Starsflowedbyfromallsides,likewhitesleet. Nebulaeghostedpastinspectralwisps. ThesenseofmotionwassocompellingthatIfoundmyselfgrippingthetable,seizedbyvertigo. 

           "Easy,Thom,"Gretawhispered. 

           Theviewlurched,swerved,contracted. Asolidwallofgasslammedpast. Now,suddenly,Ihadthesensethatwewereoutsidesomething—thatwehadpunchedbeyondsomecontainingsphere, definedonlyinvaguearcsandknotsofcurdledgas,wheretheinterstellargasdensityincreasedsharply. 

           Ofcourse.Itwasobvious. WewerebeyondtheLocalBubble. 

           Andwewerestillreceding. IwatchedtheBubbleitselfcontract,becomingjustonememberinthelargerfrothofvoids. Insteadofindividualstars,Isawonlysmudgesandmotes,aggregationsofhundredsofthousandsofsuns. Itwaslikepullingbackfromaclose-upviewofaforest. Icouldstillseeclearings,buttheindividualtreeshadvanishedintoanamorphousmass. 

           Wekeptpullingback. Thentheexpansionslowedandfroze. IcouldstillmakeouttheLocalBubble,butonlybecauseIhadbeenconcentratingonitallthewayout. Otherwise,therewasnothingtodistinguishitfromthedozensofsurroundingvoids.