Starplex

All the more reason to send Jag, thought Keith. But what he said was, "A probe it is." He turned and looked at the workstation positioned at two o'clock to his own. "Rhombus, please take care of that."

The Ib's web rippled assent.

"A delta-class probe would be most appropriate," said Jag, slipping back into his chair and speaking now into a little hologram of Rhombus above the rim of his console.

Keith tapped a key and joined the conference as well; a miniature Waldahud head popped up in front of him next to the full body shot of the Ib. "How many spheres are there in total?" asked Keith.

Rhombus's ropes operated controls. "Two hundred and seventeen," he said. "But they all look pretty much the same, except for some variation in size."

"Well, then, for an initial test, it doesn't make any difference which sphere we sample," said Jag. "Choose the one that presents the fewest navigational difficulties. First, scoop up some of that material that's between the spheres.

Then buzz into one of the spheres and get me a sample of the gas, or whatever it is that they're made of. Take some from the top of the clouds, and another sample from about two hundred meters down into the clouds, if the probe can stand the pressure. As you fill them, heat and pressurize the sample compartments to match the ambient at the collection points; I want to minimize chemical changes in the mateLights moved up Rhombus's sensor web, and a few moments later he was launching the probe. He switched the control-room spherical display to the view from the probe's cameras. The stars that were behind the haze between the spheres still seemed to be twinkling; the spheres themselves were just circles of black against a backdrop that consisted of a starfield and some faint blue nebulosity beyond.

"What do you think the spheres are?" asked Rhombus, while the probe closed toward its target.

Jag moved all four of his shoulders in a Waldahud shrug.

"Might be the remnants of a brown dwarf star that recently blew apart.

Any fluid will take on a spherical shape in zero-g, of course. The material in between will presumably eventually be swept up by the larger bodies."

The probe was getting close to the material between the spheres. "The fog seems to consist of gas studded with solid particles averaging about seven millimeters in diameter," said Rhombus, whose sensor web had partially crawled onto the console in front of him so that he could read the instruments more easily.

"What kind of gas?" Keith asked.

"Its apparent molecular weight suggests a reasonably heavy or complex compound," replied Jag, now looking at one of his monitors. "However, the absorption spectrum is that of normal space dust — carbon grains, and so on." A pause. "There's no discernible magnetic field around the spheres. That's surprising; I had supposed the gas particles might have been held in place by such fields."

"Will the probe be damaged by impact with the particles?" asked Keith.

"It pleases me to respond in the negative," said Rhombus.

"I'm slowing the probe down to avoid that."

Part of the hologram was obscured as the hatch that covered the atmospheric scoop opened up — bad design, that. "Now collecting samples of the material between the spheres," said Rhombus. A few moments later the view cleared as the hatch closed. "Sample bay one full," the Ib reported. "Changing course for atmospheric skim."

The starfield wheeled around as the probe altered its trajectory. One of the circles of blackness was soon in the center of its view. The ebony sphere grew larger and larger until it dominated everything. The probe had headlights, which Rhombus had turned on. They made two murky shafts that penetrated a few meters into the dark, swirling material.

A different part of the view was obscured as another sample hatch opened.

"Taking upper-atmosphere samples," reported the Ib, and then, a moment later, "Sample container full."

"Adequate," said Jag. "Now dive down two hundred meters — or however far you can go safely — and get some more sphere material."

"Doing so, in harmonious peace," said Rhombus's clipped tones.

Everything was pitch-black, except for the twin pools of light from the headlight beams. They were now only penetrating a meter or so. For one brief moment, something solid seemed to be in the probe's path — an ovoid shape the size of a dirigible — but it was gone from view almost at once.

"Depth now ninety-one meters," said Rhombus. "Surprising.

External pressure is very light — far less than I'd have expected."

"Keep going down, then," said Jag.

The probe continued to descend. Rhombus's web flashed in consternation.

"The pressure sensor must have been damaged — maybe an impact with a piece of gravel. I'm still reading almost no atmospheric pressure."