Leviathan

The man tried desperately to open his eyes. He saw the small figure holding a jar, or was it a glass? The figure handed the object to a man who was sitting down. Before his eyes fluttered closed, he saw the thing in the jar--a gelatinous, tentacled mass, clear, bluish in color, and about the size of an aspirin as it floated at the center of a clear solution. The man tried to frame a thought, but as he did the world went dark, and sleep started to overtake him once more.

Before going completely under, the man saw that someone was standing over him, looking at him for the longest time, as if examining him, seeking a truth of something he could not begin to understand. The smallish figure was but a shadow, but he could swear the eyes were bright blue and ringed in green, just as the deep and cold oceans.

"We need to keep a closer eye on our captain, Doctor."

SEVENTY-FIVE MILES OFF

THE COAST OF VENEZUELA

The aged supertanker Goliathmade her way slowly along the Venezuelan coast, her empty oil bunkers allowing the VLCC (Very Large Crude Carrier) to ride high, well above her loaded waterline. The newly constructed crude depot at Caracas waited to load her with its inaugural shipment of refined oil from the controversial facility. The many construction shortcuts and current unrest of union oil workers allowed a pall of contention and outright anger to hover over the plant's ceremonious opening.

The Panamanian-flagged Goliathwas no stranger to controversy herself as she plied her way toward port. The old, decrepit tanker was a constant thorn in the side of most nations and oil companies, as her deteriorating double-hulled design was continually leaking her wares into the open sea. It was only the recently rogue nation of Venezuela that kept the supertanker viable and in business, as the other exporting nations shunned her almost to the scrapheap.

A mile to her stern was her ever-present Greenpeace escort, Atlantic Avenger, out of Perth, Australia. She shadowed Goliath, taking water samples and harassing the great vessel whenever she could. The Chinese diesel-powered attack submarine Red Bannershadowed both vessels at one kilometer away, far beneath the sea. The communist Chinese government was taking massive, and some would say illegal, steps to ensure Goliathmade her delivery date in the next few weeks, as the oil-poor superpower sought desperately to feed her ever-expanding industrial might.

On the bridge of Goliath, Captain Lars Petersen scanned the waters just to the south. The telltale wake of a submarine periscope was cutting a wide, intentionally arrogant path through the Atlantic as the Chinese made their presence known to the activist ship shadowing them. Petersen smiled, and then walked out onto the bridge wing, scanning his binoculars to the south and west.

The Atlantic Avengerwas starting to make her hourly run toward the stern of the giant ship. They would pass close to the supertanker, filming the leakage of her bunkers and holding up their protest banners stating his vessel was the scourge of the sea.

"We have surface contact bearing one-three-eight degrees. Contact is possible Venezuelan navy escort vessel."

Captain Petersen took one last look at the 100-foot Greenpeace ship, then turned to his first officer.

"Our friends are starting their harassment run. Watch them and make sure they keep the proper safety distance."

"Aye, Captain."

Petersen stepped into the giant bridge of the Goliathand scanned the horizon. He finally spied the vessel in question, and he could see by her silhouette it was their old friend, the General Santiago, a small missile frigate formerly belonging to the French navy and then sold to Venezuela five years before.

"I have visual contact. Send to General Santiagowelcome and to please take up station to our starboard beam. Inform them we have a friendly submerged contact bearing one kilometer astern."

"Aye, sir."