Meg_A Novel of Deep Terror

by Steve Alten

  Arie checked the external temperature gauge. “Hey, Linda, can you believe the water’s seventy-eight degrees?”

  The girl perked up again. “Incredible, isn’t it? We call it hydrothermal megaplumes. The hot mineral water pumping out of these black smokers is seven hundred degrees. As it rises, it warms the freezing seawater column until it reaches neutral buoyancy at about twelve hundred feet above the floor of the Trench. Ocean currents then spread the plume laterally. The floating layer of soot from the minerals creates a ceiling that acts like insulation, sealing a tropical layer of water along the bottom of the gorge.”

  “The layer never cools?”

  “Never. These hydrothermal vents are ‘chronic’ plumes. They’ve been active since the Cretaceous period.”

  Ellis Richards checked his watch again. As the project’s team leader, he was perpetually worried about falling behind schedule. “Christ, three hours and it seems like we’ve barely made any headway. Linda, is it just me, or does it seem like this pilot has no idea what he’s doing?”

  Barry Leace ignored the insult. He checked his sonar and cursed under his breath. They had moved too far ahead of the Benthos, Geo-Tech Industries’ (GTI) mobile deep-sea lab community and submarine docking station. The billion-dollar mother ship resembled a domed sports arena, with a false flat surface for an underbelly, dangling three mammoth shock absorbers for legs. Hovering just above the turbulent sea floor in neutral buoyancy, the 46,000-square-foot titanium structure reminded Leace of a monstrous man-o’-war as it followed them north through the most hostile environment on the planet.

  Barry Leace had served on three different submarines during his tenure in the Navy. He had long ago become accustomed to living in claustrophobic quarters beneath the waves. Not everyone could make it as a submariner. One had to be in tip-top mental and psychological shape, able to perform while knowing that drowning in darkness within a steel ship hundreds of fathoms below the surface was just an accident away.

  Barry had that fortitude, that mental toughness, proving it time and again during his twenty-six years of service. That’s why he was so surprised at how easily his psyche was unraveling within the Mariana Trench. Confidence that had been nurtured through thousands of hours of submarine duty had suddenly dissipated the moment the Proteus cleared its abyssal docking bay aboard the Benthos.

  Truth be known, it wasn’t the depths that unnerved him. Four years earlier, through man’s intervention, Carcharodon megalodon, a prehistoric sixty-foot species of Great White shark, had risen from this very trench to wreak havoc. Although the albino nightmare had eventually been destroyed and its surviving offspring captured, at least a dozen people had died within its seven-foot jaws. Where there was one creature, there might be more. Despite all of Geo-Tech’s precautions and technical innovations, the submersible pilot was still a bundle of nerves.

  Barry pulled back on the throttle controls, slowing the main propulsion engine. He had no desire to get too far ahead of their abyssal escort. “What is it now, Captain?” Ellis asked. “Why are we slowing?”

  “Temperature’s rising again. We must be approaching another series of hydrothermal vents. The last thing I want is to collide with one of those black smokers.”

  The team leader squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. “Goddamn it—”

  Barry pressed his face against the porthole, eluding Ellis’s tirade.

  The submersible’s lights illuminated a petrified forest of sulfur and mineral deposits, the towering stacks rising thirty feet or more from the bottom. Dark billowing clouds of superheated, mineral-rich water gushed from the mouths of the bizarre chimneys.

  Arie watched Ellis Richards move menacingly toward the pilot’s navigational console. “Captain, let’s get something straight. I’m in charge of this mission, not you. My orders are for us to cover no less than twenty miles a day, something we’ll never come close to at this snail’s pace.”

  “Better safe than sorry, Mr. Richards. I don’t want to get too far ahead of the Benthos, at least not until I get a feel for this sub.”

  “A feel for… I thought you were an experienced pilot?”

  “I am,” Barry said. “That’s why I’m slowing down.”

  Linda looked up from her porthole. “Exactly how far ahead of the Benthos are we, Captain?”

  “Just over six kilometers.”

  “Six kilometers, that’s all? Benedict Singer’s going to flip.” Ellis Richards looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “Look, Captain, the Prometheus and Epimetheus are expected to arrive topside early next week. Neither submersible can even begin its work until we complete ours.”

  “I know that.”

  “You should. GTI’s paying you a king’s ransom to pilot the Proteus. We can’t keep waiting for the Benthos to play catch-up every time we go out. We’ll add another thirty days or more to our timetable, which is completely unacceptable.”

  “So is dying, Mr. Richards. My job is to keep us alive in this hellhole, not take chances so you can earn your bonus for coming in ahead of schedule.”

  The team leader stared at him. “You’re scared, aren’t you, Captain?”

  “Ellis—”

  “No, Linda, I’m right.”

  Arie watched the dynamics unfold. In the few weeks he had been in the abyss, the Mossad agent had observed Ellis Richards to be an obstinate man who preferred the use of bully tactics rather than concede he might be wrong. Though mankind knew more about distant galaxies than about the Mariana Trench, Richards proclaimed himself an expert on the abyss, somehow knowing everything from its hidden geology to its mysterious life-forms.

  To Arie Levy, Ellis Richards’ pompous attitude made him a dangerous man.

  Captain Leace glared back at Ellis. “I have a healthy dose of fear inside me, if that’s what you mean. It’s obvious that neither one of you fully appreciates the dangers of working in thirty-five thousand feet of water. Try to understand, if something should go wrong, if we should accidentally hit something… or if something hits us, there are no watertight doors to seal and no standard operating procedures to follow. In the event of a hull breach, you won’t even have time to bend over and kiss your ass good-bye.”

  “Sounds to me like you’ve lost your nerve,” Ellis said. “What did you say?”

  “What do you think, Habash? Has our captain lost his nerve?”

  “Considering that the surviving descendants of Carcharodon megalodon are living somewhere within this gorge, I must respect the captain’s opinion,” Arie said. “At the same time, we have more than sixty thousand square miles of sea floor to search. Our surface ship’s towed sonar array was designed to alert us to any approaching life-forms in plenty of time to retreat back to the safety of the Benthos.”

  “Plenty of time?” Barry shook his head in amazement. “How the hell do we know the speed at which a life-form might approach? Besides, the Goliath’s in the midst of gale-force seas. Topside interference is disrupting communications.”

  “In that case, I suggest we collect our first samples here and give the Benthos a chance to catch up. Once the weather calms, I’m sure you can find a way to make up for lost time.”

  Barry shot Linda an exasperated look before returning to his control console. He double-checked the acoustic transponders, took another quick glance out his view port, then engaged the lateral thrusters. Maneuvering between several black smokers, the Proteus descended slowly, establishing neutral buoyancy just above a cluster of glowing tube worms.

  The entanglement of mouthless, fourteen-foot life-forms writhed in the current like the serpents on Medusa’s head.

  “I’m initiating our gas chromatography detectors,” Arie said. “We could cut our mission time in half if we can detect helium isotopes leaking from these hydrothermal vents.”

  “Fine, fine, just do it,” Ellis said, struggling with the laptop controls that operated the sub’s robotic arms. Using the sub’s underwater camera to see, Ellis began manipulating the two ce
ntral control knobs, causing the twin robotic arms to extend from beneath the sub. Gingerly he directed the pincers of the left arms, snagging the isotherm sampling basket from its storage area.

  Captain Leace watched the robotic arms extend toward the seabed, their movements stirring the bottom into clouds of mud. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, listening to the hydraulic whine of the pincers.

  “Move to your left,” Linda said, directing Ellis from her view port. “Just beyond that tubeworm cluster.”

  Loud warning blips from the sonar caused the pilot’s heart to skip a beat. He grabbed the acoustical printout, then checked the sonar screen in disbelief.

  A tight cluster of objects had materialized. Large objects.

  The captain felt his throat tighten. The others continued working, not even bothering to look up.

  “Habash, we’ve got company.”

  Arie turned. “What is it?”

  “Sonar reports three unidentified objects, bearing zero-one-five. Range seven-point-four kilometers. Speed, fifteen knots and closing. Heading directly for us.”

  “Any word from the surface?”

  “I’m trying now. No response. We’re on our own.”

  “What do you suggest?” Arie suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic himself. Barry stared at the sonar console. “I say we get the hell out of here. Richards, retract the robotic arms, we’re returning immediately to the Benthos.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Captain, are you certain?” Linda registered a knot of fear in her stomach.

  “Look for yourself. Whatever these creatures are, they’re accelerating through the Trench in our direction. Richards, I said retract those mechanical arms.”

  “And I’m saying, fuck you. It’s taken me twenty minutes to collect these samples and I’ll be damned if we’re going anywhere before I secure the bucket back on board.”

  Arie moved to the sonar console, staring at the three images. He thought back to his training sessions. Were megalodons pack hunters?

  “Maybe it’s just a school of fish,” Linda suggested. “Try to stay calm—”

  “A school of fish? Stick to geology, Linda. Sonar indicates that these things are more than forty feet long. Out of my way—”

  Barry ignited the lateral thrusters. Steady. Not too fast. Don’t hit anything, or you’ll rupture the hull. The sub spun counterclockwise. A bone-rattling jolt shook the Proteus.

  “Goddamn it, Leace,” Ellis yelled. “You nearly tore the mechanical arm off. I just lost every sample.”

  “I told you to retract the arms.” Barry accelerated the Proteus to its top speed of 1.8 knots. He knew the Benthos was moving toward them, somewhere out there in the darkness.

  The blips grew stronger.

  ETA thirty-two minutes, Arie thought. We’re too far out…

  “Captain, listen to me,” Linda said, grabbing his arm. “They’re not sharks.”

  Barry stared ahead. “So, you’re a biologist now?”

  “I think Linda is right,” Arie said, trying to reason with his own fear.

  “Listen, Habash, whatever these things are, they’re a helluva lot bigger and a helluva lot faster than the Proteus.”

  The blips grew faster; Arie’s heart raced to keep pace. “This is absurd,” Ellis said. Barry ignored him and leaned forward, staring through the porthole into the abyss. The smoke rising from the hydrothermal vents made it difficult to see beyond the perimeter. He shielded his eyes and strained to focus.

  Long minutes passed in silence.

  A darting movement ahead. Another to starboard. Very swift. Very large.

  “They’re here,” the captain whispered, a lump in his throat. Fast fuckers…

  For a long moment, no one said a word, the only sounds coming from the Proteus’s propeller.

  With a sudden jolt, the sub pitched to starboard. Barry crashed face first into his console.

  “What’s happening?” Ellis asked. “What did you hit?”

  “I didn’t hit anything. They hit us.” Barry struggled with the navigational controls. “She’s not responding… something’s wrong.”

  “Shhh. Listen,” Linda whispered.

  From above their heads they heard a faint sound—metal groaning.

  “Oh, Christ, one of them is on top.” Arie listened at sonar, studying the screen.

  “Leace, do something,” Ellis ordered.

  “Hold on.” The pilot swung the submersible hard to port, then back to starboard, trying to shake the creature off.

  “Captain, stop,” screamed Linda. “That plate’s loosening!”

  The sound of grinding metal screeched along the top of the hull. The pilot reached up and touched one of the titanium rivets welded into the plate above his head. He felt moisture and tasted his fingers. “Seawater,” he moaned. He leaned forward, praying for the Benthos to appear in his view port.

  The sound of shearing metal grated in their ears as the Proteus dipped sideways.

  “Son of a bitch.” The captain wiped the sweat from his face. “They’re tearing the fucking tail fin loose.”

  Linda pushed her face against her view port. “Where’s the Benthos?”

  Something huge broadsided the sub, hurtling stacks of recording equipment against the far wall.

  “Captain, I think I know what they’re doing,” Arie shouted. “The two smaller ones are driving us to their larger companion.”

  “These things are intelligent?”

  “Look!” Linda yelled, pointing out the porthole.

  Barry could just make out an ominous shape moving toward them. “It’s the Benthos—”

  “You don’t have time to dock,” Arie warned. “Signal the Benthos to open the hangar doors!”

  “It takes five minutes to flood the chamber,” Linda shouted.

  The pilot grabbed the radio. “Mayday… Mayday… “Benthos, this is Proteus, request you open hangar doors immediately—”

  “Proceed to docking area, Proteus.”

  “—Goddamn it, open the fucking hangar doors, now—” Standing beneath the loosening rivets, arms above his head, Arie Levy felt the titanium plate reverberate against his sweating palms. “Whatever these things are, they’re tearing this entire section loose—”

  A whistling sound infiltrated the cabin.

  “What’s that?” the team leader whispered.

  Barry Leace looked up. “We’re losing integrity of the plates.”

  “Captain,” Arie yelled, “the third creature—”

  A tremendous force struck the sub’s bow, flinging Linda and Ellis to the floor. Barry Leace plunged over his navigation console, his head striking the view-port glass. Blood flowed from his brow. He wiped it clear, staring in horror.

  A luminous crimson eye peered in through the glass.

  Arie pushed his palm futilely against the titanium plate reverberating above his head. He thought about the information he had fought so long to acquire but had not been able to report. He thought about his wife and children, whom he had forsaken in the line of duty.

  The whistling sound above his head ceased. A pair of twisted rivets spit into the cabin like five-caliber machine-gun slugs.

  The Mossad agent’s head imploded before the rivets hit the floor.

  Attention Teachers!

  Meg is part of the Adopt-an-Author Program, an innovative, nationwide, non-profit program gaining attention among educators for its success in motivating tens of thousands of reluctant secondary school students to read.

  The program combines fast-paced thrillers with an interactive website and direct contact with the author. All teachers receive curriculum materials and posters for their classrooms. The program is FREE to all secondary school teachers and librarians.

  Volume discounts are available.

  Go to www.AdoptAnAuthor.com for more information.

  About the Author

  Steve Alten grew up in Philadelphia and has several degrees, including a Doctorate of Education f
rom Temple University.

  His first novel—Meg: A Novel of Deep Terror—was written over many late nights and weekends while Steve worked a “real job” to support his family. On Friday the 13th, he lost his “real job,” but four days later landed a two-book publishing deal.

  Meg would eventually be sold in more than twenty countries, hit every major best-seller list (#19 on the New York Times) and even become a popular radio series in Japan.

  Since then, Steve has written several more books in the Meg series, as well as novels and screen plays across a variety of genres and topics.

  Visit www.SteveAlten.com to personally contact the author or learn more about his novels.

  Also by Steve Alten

  The Meg Series

  Meg: Origins

  Meg: A Novel of Deep Terror

  Meg: The Trench

  Meg: Primal Waters

  Meg: Hell’s Aquarium

  Meg: Night Stalkers (forthcoming)

  2012 Doomsday Series

  Domain

  Resurrection

  Phobos

  Other Novels

  Goliath

  The Loch

  The Shell Game

  Grim Reaper: End of Days

  Copyright

  Meg: A Novel of Deep Terror was first published by Doubleday in 1997. This a revised edition.

  This digital edition (v2.2) was published in 2015 by Gere Donovan Press.

  If you downloaded this book from a filesharing network, either individually or as part of a larger torrent, the author has received no compensation. Please consider purchasing a legitimate copy—they are reasonably priced and available from all major outlets. Your author thanks you.

  Copyright © 1997 by Steve Alten.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Errata

  Gere Donovan Press is committed to delivering e-books of the highest quality. If you encountered any typographical or formatting errors in this text, we would appreciate your bringing them to our attention, so that the next edition may be improved for future readers.