Meg: Origins

For my readers…
especially the Megheads.

Meg
was my first and most important novel, as it launched my career as an author. The inspiration to write the story originated back in 1975 when I read
Jaws
as a teenager. Peter Benchley’s novel made me want to “devour” everything I could about Great White sharks and the true accounts regarding their attacks on man.

Read about Great Whites and at some point you’re bound to discover their prehistoric cousin,
Megalodon
.
Meg
s were quite real, easily the most fearsome creatures ever to have existed. And yet hardly a word was written about them, at least when I was a teen.

Flash forward to the summer of 1995.

I was a married man in my mid-thirties, struggling to support my wife, her two kids, and our newborn daughter when I picked up a
Time
magazine, and on the front cover was the Mariana Trench. The article revealed the mysteries of the abyss, hydrothermal vents, and the wondrous life forms found in this unexplored realm… and the acorn of an idea took root.
What was the name of that huge shark I read about as a teen?

A year later my first novel,
Meg,
was sold to Bantam Doubleday, the company that had published
Jaws
. Within a few months
Meg
was optioned to publishers in twenty-five more countries. Since then,
Meg
and its sequels have sold three million copies worldwide, with thousands of middle and high school reading, science, and English teachers using the book as part of their curriculum to encourage teens to read (see
www.AdoptAnAuthor.com
), completing the circle that began when I read
Jaws
.

As for a
Meg
movie… fingers crossed for summer 2013!

So why, after four
Meg
books and a fifth one to be written, did I write a prequel? First, because the story lent itself to a prequel. This was what happened to Jonas Taylor seven years
before
the first book began—the back story that changed his life (and mine). And it was fun to write, allowing me to create details that I could tie into
Meg
5: Night Stalkers
. Most of all, the prequel gave me the opportunity to give something back to my readers. If you’ve never read any of the
Meg
books, then this story should whet your appetite for things to come.

I encourage you to visit my website (
www.SteveAlten.com
) where you can register to receive free monthly updates and even enter contests to become a character in one of my future novels.

Pleasant dreams.

—Steve Alten, Ed.D.
July 2011

It is with great pride and appreciation that I acknowledge those who contributed to the completion of the
Meg
prequel.

First and foremost, a special thanks to my friend and literary agent, Danny Baror of Baror International, as well to his assistant, Heather Baror-Shapiro. My gratitude and appreciation to my personal editor, Lou Aronica at the Fiction Studio ([email protected]) whose advice was invaluable, and to reader/editors Barbara Becker and Sally Shupe.

To Scott Gere and Mike Donovan at Gere Donovan Press for publishing this e-book, as well as
Meg: A Novel of Deep Terror
, the full story that follows the prequel. Special thanks for a (fingers-crossed)
Meg
movie to producer Belle Avery, Tony Lui, and Peter Chang.

Very special thanks to my friend, graphic artist Erik Hollander, whose iconic chapter images really set a tone for the reader.

Finally, to my wife Kim and our children; my mom, and to my father, Lawrence Alten, who passed before its writing.
Y.A.M.H.

This e-book edition is accompanied by a bonus
Reader’s Companion
, provided by the author as an enhancement to the original text.

You’ll find author commentary, supplemental photos and video content, additional information, and more. You can follow along as you read each chapter, or wait until you’re finished—no spoilers, guaranteed!

Visit
www.SteveAlten.com
for instructions and access.

Prologue

Aboard the H.M.S.
Challenger
Philippine Sea
October 5, 1874

CAPTAIN GEORGE NARES
stood defiantly on the heaving gun deck, his weight giving at the knees as the broiling Pacific tossed his command within the valleys of its fifteen foot swells. Each rolling crest of blue levitated the British warship’s bow, each rise ended with the crash of copper keel meeting ocean. For the Scot, the spray of sea and the flap of canvas from the three mainsails defined the mantra of the past seven hundred-odd days; despite the danger, he much preferred the ocean’s fury to the mission’s incessant ports of call.

He knew from day one that this command would be far different from his others. Once the flagship of the Royal Navy’s Australia Station, the Pearl-class corvette had been stripped of all but two of her guns and her spars reduced. The extra space had been converted to laboratories brimming with microscopes and chemical apparatus, water sampling bottles and specimen jars filled with alcohol—and not the kind her captain much preferred. In addition to the equipment and labs, the main deck had been altered to accommodate dredging platforms. These stations projected outward along either side of the ship like scaffolds, so that their occupants could work without fear of running afoul of the fore and main yards. The men who worked on these platforms were scientists, their crew skilled in troweling and dredging the bottom. To accomplish this feat required netting and containers rigged to great lengths of hemp, the coils of rope exceeding 140 miles, with an additional twelve and a half miles of piano wire reserved for sounding gear. Motorized winches released and gathered these lines—a chore that still took most of each work day to accomplish.

Science was the mission of the H.M.S.
Challenger
, a voyage of discovery for the two-hundred and forty-three men aboard—a mission that would take four years while trekking nearly 69,000 nautical miles.

Popular among his men, Nares led with an even temperament; what he lacked in physical stature he more than made up for with his cunning. Standing by the mainsail, he watched with a mixture of trepidation and amusement as a heavily bearded professor warily made his way aft along the swaying deck. “Professor Moseley. What is it to be then?”

“Sink lines, followed by more dredging. The crew’s been rigging longer lines, the depths seem to have no end in this area of the archipelago.”

The captain glanced to starboard. For weeks they had been following a course that took them past the Mariana Islands, each mountainous mass carpeted in green jungle. “I would have thought the depths around these islands far more shallow.”

“As it turns out, these volcanic islands sit in the deepest waters we have yet come upon. The sea bed is ancient, yielding a treasure-trove of fossils and manganese nodules. This morning’s sink line exceeded thirty-five hundred fathoms and still there is no sign of bottom. We had to splice in another…”

The captain grabbed the teetering scientist and held fast as the bow lifted again, then crashed back into the Pacific. “How soon until a new length of cable can be made ready?”

“I’m told another twenty minutes.”

“Very well. Helm, come hard to starboard. Mr. Lauterbach, lower the mainsails; prepare to engage steam engines.”

“Aye, captain.” The first officer rang his copper bell, the signal mobilizing two dozen crewmen as the
Challenger
leaned onto its starboard flank to shed the wind within the valley of a swell.

Captain Nares waited until the scientist disappeared safely down a hold, then returned his gaze to the Pacific, staring hard at the heaving waters.

Thirty-five hundred fathoms… more than six kilometers of ocean. How deep could these waters run? What strange life forms could they be concealing?

The depths surrounding this strange archipelago had certainly offered a bounty of clues, from cetacean vertebrae and whale ear bones to thousands of shark teeth, more than a hundred of these manganese-encrusted fragments as large as his hand. Moseley had identified these larger specimens as the genus,
Carcharodon
, those teeth exceeding four centimeters belonging to the species
Megalodon
, a true ancient sea monster.

The spectacular size of the creature’s teeth led to nightly debates in the galley as to whether these sharks might still be alive. The dark lead-gray serrated triangles were fossilized to be sure; only a white specimen would bear proof of the
Megalodon
’s continued existence. For his part Professor Moseley carefully inspected each haul, hoping to find one ivory treasure among the fragments—so far, to no avail.

“Some of these fossils are not that old, Captain,” the scientist had cooed the night before last, draining his third brandy. “This tells me the creatures might still be around, prowling the deeper fathoms.”

“Exactly how big would these mega-sharks of yours be?”

“Some say thirteen meters, but these fragments tell me different. I’ve held an eighteen centimeter tooth in my hand; its owner had to measure twenty meters from snout to tail.”

“Good God, man! That’s more than half the length of the
Challenger
. A creature that size… we’d need a bigger boat. Has any man ever spotted such a beast?”

“There have been rumors, whalers mostly. Lots of blood in the sea attracts all kinds of sharks.”

“Attracts them? How so?”

“Unknown. Perhaps they can taste the blood. Sharks are not my specialty, but a devil like this
Megalodon
… I'll confess, captain, each time we retrieve the nets I find myself watching the sea, secretly wishing our cast would lure one of these monsters up from the depths, if only so I could lay eyes on such a magnificent animal, surely nature’s most feared creation of all time.”

Staring at the foam-covered swells, Captain Nares shook his head, trying to imagine a shark that could consume four of his men in one bite, wondering if such a fish could still be alive, inhabiting the unexplored realm harbored by these ungodly depths.

1

Aboard the U.S. NAVY DSV-4 support ship:
Maxine D
Philippine Sea
Present Day

CAPTAIN RICHARD DANIELSON
stood defiantly on the main deck, his ears assaulted by the thirty knot winds swirling southeast across the broiling Pacific. Each gust disturbed the twenty-nine ton beast held aloft above the stern, each sway threatening to tear harness from machinery and cast the “white whale” from its perch.

For the American naval officer, the spray of sea and the incessant rolling steel beneath his feet were a constant reminder that his scheduled twelve day mission was now entering its third week. A commander who commanded best from behind a desk, Danielson was clearly out of his element. Three years ago he had transferred to the U.S. naval base at Guam seeking a non-combat position where he could spend his days pushing papers until his retirement. Guam was exactly what the doctor ordered—a tropical island paradise brimming with pristine beaches, deep sea sport fishing, and world class golf courses. And the women—exotic islanders and Asian delights. True, the job was flavored with the occasional “readiness at sea” command, but these maritime exercises occupied no more than a few of his days every quarter.