"Baby Cakes! My favorite reality television ideas man! Come on in and tell me what you've got for me."
    "Thanks, Chief. It took me a while to come up with a victim for the premier episode of Celebrity Snuff, but I've finally got it!"
    "Lay it on me, Baby Cakes, lay it in me!"
    "Prepare yourself to be astonished, Chief. The first corpse will be Moby Dick!"
    "Moby Dick? Do you mean big, white, yesterday's news whale Moby Dick? We are not amused, Baby Cakes."
   "Listen! Back in the 50s he did in Gregory Peck! Okay, that's old but he just recently iced Patrick Stewart! How's that for today's news!"
    "Okay, you've got my attention. Don't squander the opportunity!"
    "Thanks, Chief. All we've got to do is find somebody big and bad enough to take out the Great White One."
    "A tall order, Baby Cakes, can you deliver?"
    "I've got just the guy for the job."
    "Tell, Baby Cakes, tell!"
    "Willy."
    "Willy? Willy Orca? Willy the star of all those schmaltzy kid's movies? Pack your bags, Baby Cakes, and be on the next bus out of town!"
    "Wait Chief! Willy's trying to shake off that goody two shoes image. His agent has been begging Playgirl to let him be a centerfold. He'll be putty in our hands. He'll work cheap."
    "Cheap?!! Unpack your bags, Baby Cakes, you just said the magic word. If I can pull this off I'll end up with more Emmys than that pimply faced kid actor that lives next door to me. Call Willy's agent. No, wait! First kiss my bald spot for good luck!"

    Willy made his way along the continental shelf trying to look casual. Not an easy thing to do with a television camera attached to his head and a boat filled with cameras, lights, sound equipment and the entire production team following and recording his every move. Looking around at the beautiful underwater scenery he had a brief pang of guilt over what he was about to do. Moby Dick might be a cliché these days, he was certainly laughed at in all of the trendier whale hangouts, but he had been a trail blazer in his day. He had been the first whale to make a really big splash in literature and later cinema as well. Willy owed him that much at least. But killer whales are killer whales, as his mother used to tell him, and business is business. He had a job to do.
    Entering a canyon in a submarine mountain range, he began to sense that he was getting close to the Great One. Oddly, the aquatic environment began to subtly change in this secluded spot. He could no longer hear the engines of the boat overhead but that wasn't it. He couldn't quite put his tail on it...suddenly he had it! The singing was fading! It had been so pervasive for his entire life that he had always taken it for granted. The whale songs from all the oceans of the world could be heard at one depth or another, their sound waves traveling the circumference of the Earth in the cold, clear ocean. But now it was almost gone! Only fragments of short agonized death songs remained. In the shadowy depths of his killer whale soul he knew real fear for the first time in his life. Not fear of death, no born killer could fear something so natural. The fragments of death songs were beginning to fit together to form a picture in his mind. A picture of men going to sea in ships and hunting, no, slaughtering whales. Not for survival but for profit. A slaughter that wouldn't cease until whales were virtually extinct.
    Fighting his fear, he swam on to where the canyon took a sharp plunge to depths unexplored even by whales. And here, at the edge of the unknown, was The Great White Whale. Willy had been steeling himself for this moment, wondering what thoughts would go through his mind as he hovered in the water eye to eye with Moby Dick, but he hadn't been prepared for this. Moby wasn't even looking at his would-be assassin, his gaze went over Willy's head and rested on something else, something distant, something in another time. There was a reflection in Moby's eyes. A reflection of a giant sailing ship furrowing the waves of another century. Willy could almost hear that wooden ship gliding through the water as he looked into Moby's eyes. And he heard the stealthy sound of that ship overwhelm the feeble singing of the dying whales and he saw hate and retribution in the eyes of The Great One.
    Following Moby's gaze, Willy looked up to the surface at the boat following him. Suddenly he could hear it's engines again, they had taken the place of the quiet but deadly sound of the ghostly whaler but to him they sounded eerily similar. As his mother used to say, killer whales are killer whales and business is business. He had a job to do.
    Turning from Moby Dick, he lined himself up with his new prey on the surface and held the camera steady, just the way they had trained him. They had trained him well. They were going to get this scene in one take.