Every time his name came up, somebody would say, "Oh, yes; he
flubbed the contact on Whatzit."
It wouldn't do the rest of them any good, either. There would
always be the suspicion that they had contributed to the failure.
* * * * *
_Bwaaa-waaa-waaanh!_
The wavering sound hung for an instant in the air. A few seconds
later, it was repeated, then repeated again.
"Our cannon's a horn," Gofredo said. "I can't see how they're
blowing it, though."
There was a stir to right and left, among the Marines deployed
in a crescent line on either side of the contact team; a metallic
clatter as weapons were checked. A shadow fell in front of them
as a combat-car moved into position above.
"What do you suppose it means?" Meillard wondered.
"Terrans, go home." He drew a frown from Meillard with the
suggestion. "Maybe it's supposed to intimidate us."
"They're probably doing it to encourage themselves," Anna de Jong,
the psychologist, said. "I'll bet they're really scared stiff."
"I see how they're blowing it," Gofredo said.
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