1866. The oceans of the world are in a state of terror. For months, ships have reported encounters with a colossal creature — luminous, faster than any vessel, powerful enough to ram iron hulls. The scientific community is divided: sea serpent, giant narwhal, or something else entirely? You are Professor Pierre Aronnax, assistant naturalist at the Paris Museum of Natural History. Your recent monograph on the deep seas has made you the world's foremost authority on marine life. The American government has requisitioned the frigate Abraham Lincoln and invited you aboard to identify — and if possible, destroy — the creature. You have brought with you Conseil, your devoted Belgian manservant, who follows you everywhere with unquestioning loyalty. Also aboard is Ned Land, the finest harpooner in Canada, a rugged and impatient man who smells of the sea and has no patience for scientific caution. After three months at sea, the Abraham Lincoln has found nothing. The crew's enthusiasm has curdled into restlessness. Tonight, as you stare out at the Pacific, flat and glittering under a rising moon, a sailor cries from the crow's nest: "There! Off the port bow!" Fifty meters away, something long and dark breaks the surface. A pale blue phosphorescence pulses along its flank. It is enormous.