Two of the groups fell in the Pacific Ocean in the midst of a tropical storm. One of them washed up on the beach of Kauai Island, in the Hawaiian group, several hours later. More dead than alive, they managed to crawl out of their buoyant suits and into the palm jungle. The other group was lost forever in the wild sea. One landed in North America; in a suburb of New York. Another fell in the deserted, frozen wastes of Antartica. They were forced to leave the warm safety of their suits when their power packs ran out. They froze to death soon afterwards. The last group alighted near Kamkov, a small village in East Russia.
Alma, Amika, and Babla, the three members of the first group to jump, were sitting huddled by the bole of a Royal Palm tree intensely studying the map spread out before them. They paid scant attention to the warm beauty of the Hawaiian island about them. Their recent ordeal in the ocean had left their aesthetic senses somewhat dulled. They were still weak, though a few meals of coconuts and berries had added a good deal to their vigor.
“According to this map,” Amika pointed, “we’re a helluva distance from rendezvous point, almost a quarter of the circumference of this globe I’d say.”
“Most of that distance is water, too,” Alma observed. “After our tuss’e with that insane ocean I’ll be blasted if I’ll swim it.”
“We’ll have to try contacting the nearest intelligent life, and ask for help,” Babla said, as he rose and looked over the sunny beach.
“Doyou think that’s wise?” Amika asked, as Babla shot him a cold glance. “That is to say, I realize that you’re a trained alien sociologist and I’m just a crummy radio op, but I’d still hate to end up stuffed, in some barbarian’s museum.”
“We made a very careful study of this planet through our scopes before we landed,” Babla lectured a trifle coolly. “We discovered unmistakable signs of a very advanced culture. In fact, the captain placed our rendezvous point on the outskirts of the biggest city we could find; so that we could get assistance from the most obvious source—where the most inhabitants are.
“Need I remind you that the prime order of your Interstellar Manual states, in effect, when in need of aid contact the first intelligent species that possesses at least a fifth-level culture. A fifth-level, or higher culture, may be identified by the architectural criteria illustrated in the manual. The theory is simple; any culture advanced enough to build a fifth-level structure can be trusted to be intelligent enough to recognize your predicament and to offer aid.
“You must, of course, be extremely wary of barbaric, moron-level cultures; they understand only brute force. However, you may feel secure in the knowledge that once you identify an advanced culture you need not fear barbarians; the planet has by then progressed enough to have left its savage stages behind.”
“That’s all well and good for our star system,” Alma argued, “but remember, we’re in mighty strange waters; in fact we’re here purely by accident. As far as I know, nobody has ever seen this part of the galaxy before.”