Sprinkled across the black waters below were at least a hundred small boats set out to greet the Leviathan, their navigation lights like shifting stars. Among them loomed a glittering cruise liner, her fog horn bellowing in the night. The low groan grew into a chorus as the other great ships in the harbor joined in.

Perched on Volger's desk, Bovril attempted to imitate the horns, but wound up sounding like a badly blown tuba.

Alek smiled. "But they're already singing our praises!"

"They are Americans," Volger said. "They toot their horns for anything.

Autore: Scott Westerfeld