"Sir," said Volval, approaching the pilot, "I've discovered some maps." He held out a packet of papers, tinted blue and brown.
"Good work, Volval," said Gwann, taking the packet. "Where did you find them?"
"In one of those small shops, not far from the ship, sir. I cannot read the designations, of course, but I thought that, by a comparison with the maps from Venus Observatory, we might—"
"That's intelligent thinking," said Gwann, nodding. "Their maps are bound to be similar to ours. Klendro! What can you make of these?"
The ambassador came over and took the thick packet. The paper of the maps, as he did so, tore apart, and bits and pieces of the soft, pulpy edges dropped in a shower to the street.
"Not very substantial material, is it?" he muttered, unfolding the topmost of the maps. He looked over the colored line drawings on the page in some bewilderment. The letters spelling out "Rand McNally" meant nothing to his alien eyes. The map itself was a mercator projection of the globe, the extreme northern and southern continents being somewhat distorted. After a few moments, he shook his head.
"I'm sorry. All the Earth broadcasts that we intercepted gave me a working knowledge of the spoken word, sir, but I'm afraid their actual word symbols are beyond me. It would take trained linguists months, perhaps years, to get a correlation between the sound of the word and its written image."
"Drog?" said Gwann, turning to the navigator.
Drog took the rotting sheet in his hands and studied the configurations of the continents. After a bit, he brightened.
"Sir, I think I can figure this out. According to our landing calculations, we are here." He jabbed a digit at one section of the page, and was distressed when it went right through. "The material seems to be falling apart, sir."