За разломом орла

           "Isthathowfaroutwe’vecome?"Iasked. 

           Gretashookherhead. "Letmeshowyousomething." 

           Again,shedidnothingthatIwasawareof. ButtheBubbleIhadbeenlookingatwassuddenlyfilledwithaskeinofredlines,likeachild’sscribble. 

           "Apertureconnections,"Isaid. 

           AsshockedasIwasbythefactthatshehadliedtome—andasfearfulasIwasaboutwhatthetruthmighthold —Icouldn’tturnofftheprofessionalpartofme,thepartthattookprideinrecognizingsuchthings. 

           Gretanodded. "Thosearethemaincommerceroutes,thewell-mappedconnectionsbetweenlargecoloniesandmajortradinghubs. NowI’lladdallmappedconnections,includingthosethathaveonlyeverbeentraversedbyaccident." 

           Thescribbledidnotchangedramatically. Itgainedafewmorewildloopsandhairpins,includingonethatreachedbeyondthewalloftheBubbletotouchthesunwardendoftheAquilaRift. Oneortwootheradditionspiercedthewallindifferentdirections,butnoneofthemreachedasfarastheRift. 

           "Wherearewe?" 

           "We’reatoneendofoneofthoseconnections. Youcan’tseeitbecauseit’spointingdirectlytowardyou." Shesmiledslightly. "Ineededtoestablishthescalethatwe’redealingwith. HowwideistheLocalBubble,Thom?Fourhundredlight-years,giveortake?" 

           Mypatiencewaswearingthin. ButIwasstillcurious. 

           "Aboutright."