MEG 01 - MEG

by Alten-Steve

  "I'm here because Masao asked for my help."

  "The Japanese have no sense of irony."

  "We're going to have to work together, Frank. The only way to find out what's going on down there is to haul up the damaged UNIS. D.J. can't do it alone—"

  "I know that." Heller rose quickly and crossed the room to refill his coffee. "What I don't understand is why you should be the one to go with him."

  "Because nobody else has been down there in the last thirty years."

  "Oh yes they have," Heller said bitterly. "Only they died making the trip."

  Jonas broke eye contact. "Frank, I want to talk to you about that. I..." Jonas searched for the right words. "Look, there hasn't been a day that's gone by in the last seven years that I haven't thought about the Seacliff incident. To be honest with you, I'm still not sure what happened. All I know is that I believed I saw something rise up from the bottom to attack our sub, and I reacted."

  Heller moved to Jonas, stood face to face, inches away. His eyes burned with hatred. "Guess that little confession makes everything all right in your book, but it changes nothing with me. You were day-dreaming, Taylor. You hallucinated, thought you saw an extinct monster, of all things, and killed two of your team, tossing aside years of training. You panicked. And you know what really ticks me off? You've spent the last seven years making a career of justifying the possible existence of this Megalodon, substantiating your fabricated excuse so you wouldn't look so bad." Heller was shaking with emotion. He took a step back and leaned against his desk. "You make me ill, Taylor. Those men didn't deserve to die. Now here we are, seven years later, and you still can't face up to the truth."

  "I don't know what the truth is, Frank. If it makes a difference, maybe I was looking at a cluster of tubeworms and then hallucinated. I don't know. I know I screwed up. I almost died down there myself. Now I've got tot deal with this thing for the rest of my life."

  "I'm not your priest, Taylor. I'm not here to take your confession or to hear about your guilty feelings."

  "And what about your contribution to the accident?" Jonas yelled. "You were the physician of record. You told Danielson that I was medically fit to make a third descent into the trench. Three dives within eight days! Do you think that may have had anything to do with my ability to function?"

  "Bullshit!"

  "Why is it bullshit, Doctor Heller?" Jonas paced across the room, his blood boiling. "You said it yourself, wrote it on the official report: 'psychosis of the deep." You and Danielson forced me to pilot those dives without sufficient rest, and the two of you railroaded me, set me up to be the Navy's fall guy."

  "It was your fault!"

  "Yes," whispered Jonas, "It was my piloting error, but I never would have been placed into that position without your involvement or Danielson's. So, after seven years, I've decided to go back down to finally face my fears, to figure out for myself what happened. Maybe it's time you faced up to your own responsibilities." Jonas headed toward the door.

  "Hold it, Taylor. Look, maybe you shouldn't have been in the trench on that third dive. As for me, Danielson was my commanding officer, but I still believed you were mentally fit. You were a damn good pilot. But let's just make sure that the reason you're making this dive with D.J. is to assist him and not to go off looking for some tooth."

  Jonas opened the door, then turned to face Heller. "I know my responsibilities, Frank. I hope you remember yours."

  NIGHTFALL

  Twenty minutes later, having showered and changed, Jonas entered the galley, where a dozen crewmen were noisily feasting on fried chicken and potatoes. He saw Terry, seated next to D.J., a vacant chair to her left.

  "Is this seat taken?"

  "Sit," she ordered.

  He sat down, listening to D.J., who was involved in a heated debate with DeMarco and Captain Barre. Heller's absence was conspicuous.

  "Doc!" D.J. sprayed half his mouthful of chicken out with the word. "You're just in time. You know that practice dive we had scheduled for tomorrow? Well, forget about it."

  Jonas felt butterflies in his stomach. "What are you saying, D.J.?"

  Captain Barre turned to Jonas, swallowed a mouthful of food, and said, "Storm front moving in from the east. No time for practice dives. If you're gonna descend this week, it's gonna be tomorrow, first light."

  "Jonas, if you're not ready yet, I think you should be man enough to admit it and let me step in," interjected Terry.

  "Nah, he'll be fine, right, Doc?" said D.J., winking. "After all, you've been down to the Mariana Trench before."

  "Who said that?" Jonas felt the room go quiet, all eyes on him.

  "Come on, Doc. It's all over the ship. Some reporter in Guam interviewed half the crew by radio an hour after you boarded."

  "What? What reporter? How the hell—?" Jonas no longer felt hungry.

  "It's true, Jonas," said Terry. "Same guy who was questioning you at the lecture. He claims two people died on the sub you were piloting. Told us you panicked because you hallucinated, claiming to have seen one of those Megalodons."

  D.J. looked him squarely in the eye. "So, Doc, any of this true?"

  The room was dead silent. Jonas pushed his tray away from him. "It's true. What this reporter, or whoever your source is, left out is that I was exhausted at the time, having already completed two deep trench dives during the same week. I was pushed into service, okayed by the medical officer. To this day I'm not sure if what I saw was real or I imagined it. But as far as tomorrow is concerned, I made a commitment to your father to complete the mission and I intend to keep that commitment. I've piloted subs on more deep-sea missions than you've had birthdays, D.J., so if you have a problem with me escorting you down, then let's get it out on the table right now!"

  D.J. smiled nervously. "Hey, I've got no problem with you. Take it easy. Actually, Al DeMarco and I were just talking about this creature, this giant prehistoric shark of yours. Al says that it would be impossible for a creature of that size to exist in water pressures as great as those in the trench. Now me, I'm on your side. I say it's possible. Not that I believe your theory, 'cause I don't. But I've seen dozens of different species of fish down there. Now, if those little fish can withstand the water pressures, why couldn't this mega-shark, or whatever the hell you call it." D.J. was grinning from ear to ear. Several crew members began snickering.

  Jonas stood up to leave. "You'll excuse me. I think I've lost my appetite."

  D.J. grabbed his arm. "No, wait, Doc, come on now. Tell me about this shark. I really want to know. After all, how will I recognize it if I see it tomorrow?"

  "It'll be the big shark with the missing tooth!" blurted out Terry. Laughter cascaded around them.

  Jonas sat back down. "Okay, D.J., if you really want to know about these monsters, I'll tell you. The first thing you have to realize about the shark family is that they've been around for about four hundred million years. Compare that with humans, whose ancestors fell from the trees only about two million years ago. And of all the species of sharks ever to have inhabited the ocean, the Megalodon was undisputed king. What little we know about these monsters is that nature endowed the creatures not just to survive but to dominate every ocean and marine species. So we're not just talking about a shark here, we're talking about a formidable war machine. Forget for a moment that this species was a sixty-foot version of a great white shark. The Meg was the supreme hunter of the planet, during the reign of the dinosaurs, endowed with over seventy million years of killer instincts. Besides its massive size and murderous seven-inch serrated teeth, the creature also possessed eight highly efficient sensory organs."

  Leon Barre began chuckling. "Hey, Doc. How you know all this shit about some dead fish nobody's ever seen?" Snickers could be heard from some of the men. The room quieted once more, awaiting Jonas's response.

  "For one thing, we have their fossilized teeth, which not only tells us about their enormous size but reveals their predatory tendencies. We also have fossi
lized evidence from the species they fed on."

  "Go on about their senses," said D.J., now truly curious.

  "Okay." Jonas gathered his thoughts. He noticed that the other members of the crew had grown silent, now listening as well. "The Megalodon, just like its modern-day cousin the great white, possessed eight sensory organs that allowed it to search, detect, identify, and stalk its prey. Let's start with its most amazing sensory organ, called the ampullae of Lorenzini. Along the top and underside of the Meg's snout were tiny, jelly-filled capsules beneath the skin which could detect electrical discharges in the water. Let me put that in layman's terms. The Megalodon could detect the faint electrical field of its prey's beating heart or moving muscles hundreds of miles away. That means if the Megalodon was circling our ship, it could still detect a person enjoying a leisurely swim off the beaches of Guam."

  The room was silent now, all eyes focused on Jonas.

  "Almost as amazing as the ampullae of Lorenzini was the Megalodon's sense of smell. Unlike man, the creature possessed directional nostrils that not only could detect one part of blood or sweat or urine in a billion parts of water but could determine the exact location of the scent. That's why you see great whites swimming with a side-to-side motion of their heads. They're actually smelling the water in different directions. A full-grown adult Megalodon's nostrils were probably the size of a grapefruit.

  "Now we come to the monster's skin, a sensory organ and weapon combined in one. Running along either side of the Meg's flank was an organ referred to as the lateral line. Actually, the line is more of a canal that contains sensory cells called neuromasts. These neuromasts were able to detect the slightest vibrations in water, even the flutter of another fish's heartbeat."

  Al DeMarco stood up. "You'll have to excuse me. I've got work to do."

  "Ah, come on, Al," said D.J. lightheartedly. "There's no school tomorrow. We'll let you stay up late."

  DeMarco gave D.J. a stern look. "Tomorrow happens to be a big day for all of us. I suggest we all get some rest."

  "Al's right, D.J." agreed Jonas. "I've already mentioned the best parts anyway. But to quickly answer your question, the Megalodon possessed an enormous liver that probably constituted one-fourth of its entire weight. Besides serving the creature's normal hepatic functions and storing fatty energy reserves, the liver would have allowed the Megalodon to adjust to changes in water pressure, even at depths as great as those in the Challenger Deep."

  "All right, Professor," said DeMarco. "Let's assume, just for argument's sake, that a Megalodon shark did exist in the trench. Why hasn't it surfaced? After all, there's a helluva lot more food topside than along the bottom."

  "That's easy," said Terry. "If it rose from seven miles down, it would burst."

  "No, I don't agree," said Jonas. "Changes in water pressure, even drastic changes, affect sharks differently than humans. The Megalodon would already have adapted to the crushing pressures seven miles down. A full-grown adult Megalodon would weigh upward of forty-five thousand pounds, and about seventy-five percent of that is water, contained primarily in the muscles and cartilage. The creature's liver would be enormous, enabling the Meg to reduce its specific gravity, in a sense decompressing at it rose. The journey would be strenuous but the Meg would survive."

  "So what would be the problem then?" said Terry.

  "Obviously, you weren't paying much attention during my lecture, were you?" Jonas responded. "Remember, I said that my theory for the existence of Megalodons in the Mariana Trench was based on the presence of a warm layer of water prevailing along the bottom of the gorge, a result of the hydrothermal vents. Above that warm layer is six miles of freezing-cold water. The rest of the Megalodon species perished a hundred thousand years ago because of the drop in water temperatures resulting from the last ice age. Any Meg surviving in the trench did so because they were able to escape the colder waters above. The creatures would be trapped below. Even if they did attempt to surface, they'd never survive the cold."

  "Conveniently, Taylor, it appears you have all the answers," said DeMarco, the cynicism rising in his voice. "But your creative solutions still haven't told us what food source would be available in the Mariana Trench to sustain a predator the size of a sixty-foot great white?"

  "Maybe they've run out of food," said Terry, sarcastically. "That's why they're eating our UNIS robots."

  D.J. laughed, then abruptly grew serious. "Would a Meg eat a UNIS, Doc?" Terry and DeMarco burst out laughing.

  "No, D.J.," said Jonas, "these creatures have a sense of taste. They can tell by rubbing their snouts against a foreign object if something is edible or not. But the UNIS systems do emit electrical impulses which can easily be detected by a Meg. These signals may have irritated the shark, its instincts forcing it to attack."

  "So if they don't eat titanium robots, what do they eat?" said D.J. with a smile.

  Jonas hesitated. "To be honest, I just don't know. My assumption has always been that the Megalodon's food source would also have migrated to the deeper waters of the trench to inhabit the warmer currents. Nature has a tendency to allow a species to adapt to certain limitations over thousands, even millions of years. I think the trench waters, which maintain a much lower oxygen content than our surface waters, would effectively slow the creatures' metabolism down, greatly decreasing their appetites. Megalodons, being territorial predators, would probably thin out their numbers by devouring any weaker members of their own species. And those huge growths of tubeworms are a readily available source of protein—"

  "Do you really believe a sixty-foot predator could exist on nothing but tubeworms?" scoffed DeMarco. "What nonsense. We both know there's nothing inhabiting the Mariana Trench large enough to sustain even one Megalodon."

  "How do you know, DeMarco?" Jonas retorted. "Unfortunately, your close-minded attitude is typical among those who arrogantly consider themselves "men of science.' The notion of a species existing in an unexplored environment like the Challenger Deep is impossible for you to comprehend simply because you haven't seen the species with your own eyes. It's far easier to criticize my theories than to consider the possibilities of existence. If you remember, it was only a short time ago that Man refused to accept the notion that life could exist without photosynthesis, but it does. Who really knows what life forms inhabit the unexplored Challenger Deep? For your information, the unmanned submersible, Kaiko, recently recorded schools of unidentified fish inhabiting the deep waters of the Mariana Trench. We also know giant squids, over sixty feet long, weighing close to two tons, inhabit the abyss. Surely these creatures would be adequate dining for a limited number of Megs. And what if other prehistoric species also managed to survive without our knowledge or blessings?"

  DeMarco shook his head in disbelief. "Your theories are based totally on conjecture, Taylor, fueled by your own vivid imagination, motivated by your guilt. I've had enough of this nonsense for one night." DeMarco headed out the door.

  D.J. whistled. "Well, Doc, personally I'm glad you just hallucinated these things," he said, winking at his sister. "Now all of us can sleep real good. Good night, Terry./" D.J. kissed his sister and followed DeMarco out of the galley. Seconds later, their laughter could be heard down the corridor.

  Jonas felt humiliated. "Good night, Terry." He stood up, leaving his dinner on the table, and headed out on deck.

  It was a calm sea, but clouds could be seen moving in from the east. Jonas watched the half-moon dance along the black surface of the Pacific. He thought about Maggie. Did he still love her? Did it really matter anymore? He gazed at the black water and felt the butterflies return, unaware that, one deck up, Frank Heller was watching.

  Jonas awoke sometime before dawn. His cabin was pitch black, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. When he remembered, a shiver of fear flared in his gut. In a few hours he'd be in similar darkness with seven miles of frigid water over his head. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. He couldn't. An hour later D.J. knocked
on his door to wake him.

  It was time.

  DESCENT

  D.J. was in the water, his Abyss Glider already twenty feet beneath the surface by the time Jonas walked on deck in his wet suit. He had eaten a light breakfast and popped two of his yellow pills for the descent, keeping another two in his shoulder pocket. Despite the pills, he still felt anxious. Carefully, he crawled into his sub through the tail section.

  A steel cable from the giant winch at the stern of the Kiku had been lowered and attached to the claw of D.J.'s submersible's mechanical arm. Capturing the latched hook at the end of the cable had proved more difficult than expected. D.J. had struggled with it for nearly half an hour before a frogman was forced to enter the water and secure it firmly to the claw.

  There were two smaller winches on either side of the Kiku, designed only for lowering the Abyss Gliders into and out of the water. One of them held Jonas's sub, which was slowly being lowered into the choppy surf. Two frogmen on either side of the harness escorted him down. The big winch in the stern would be used strictly to feed the steel cable from D.J.'s sub, eventually hauling the damaged UNIS to the surface.

  Lying on his stomach within the capsule, Jonas watched as the two frogmen detached the harness from around his sub. He saw Terry looking down at him from the rail of the Kiku, her image dissolving as the water closed around him. One of the frogmen knocked on the Lexan nose cone, giving the all-clear sign. The AG II was free. Jonas started the twin engines, pressed forward on the throttle, and adjusted the midwings, aiming his vessel down.

  The vessel responded at once. Jonas noticed the sub felt much heavier, perhaps even sluggish compared with the lightweight AG I he had test-flown years before. Still, no other submersible Jonas had ever piloted could compare with the Abyss Glider's design. Jonas found D.J. at thirty feet, the UNIS recovery cable now firmly hooked in his sub's mechanical claw.

  They made visual contact and D.J. smiled, giving Jonas the pilot's thumbs-up. "Age before beauty, Professor," his voice came over the radio.