He checked his suit's systems. All overloaded, all on the brink of failure. A skinsuit wasn't designed to withstand the ferocious conditions of the center of the Galaxy, and it knew it. But it didn't matter.
This would be over soon, one way or another.
With more commands he coaxed his visor to leak through a little of the hard light that battered it.
Soon he could see again, if sketchily.
He was floating through a forest of shining threads, silvery lines as straight as laser beams—but some of the threads were broken, twisted.
With a jolt, he understood. He was falling through the net structure around the black hole. There was no sign of those vessels they had spotted crawling over the net, however. And there was no sign of his ship, or his crewmates, who, if they had not died immediately, must be drifting as helplessly as he was.
-Exultant, Ch. 58