'It's impossible,' Oliviera decided.

The words sounded feeble. She examined the taxonomic results again, but it didn't change what she knew already. The jelly was evidently made up of an existing amoeba species. It was known to exist mainly at depths of 3000 metres or below, and there were huge numbers of them.

'Nonsense,' hissed Oliviera. 'Come on, you've got to be kidding. You've disguised yourself, trying to pretend you're an ordinary amoeba. Well, you can't fool me. But what the hell are you?'

DNA

Once Johanson had joined her, they set to work isolating individual cells from the jelly. Mercilessly they froze and heated the amoebas until their cell walls burst. Proteinase was used to break down the protein molecules into chains of amino acids. Then phenol was added and the samples were centrifuged in a slow and laborious process to separate the solution from the scraps of protein and remains of cell wall. Finally they had a small quantity of clear watery fluid; the key to understanding the enigmatic organism.

Pure DNA.

The second step required even more patience. To unravel the DNA, they had to isolate and replicate sections of it. The genome was far too complex to be read as a whole, so they set about trying to analyse diagnostic sequences.

It was a hard slog, and Rubin was supposedly ill.

'Asshole,' moaned Oliviera. 'This was his chance to do something useful. What's the matter with him anyway?'

'Migraine,' said Johanson.

'Well, that's something. Migraines are painful.'

Oliviera transferred the samples via pipette to the sequencer. The machine would take a few hours to analyse them all. For the time being there was nothing they could do so they underwent the obligatory peracetic shower and walked out into the open, breathing freely once more. Oliviera suggested a cigarette break on the hangar deck while they waited for the sequencer to finish, but Johanson had a better idea. He disappeared into his cabin and returned five minutes later with two glasses and a bottle of Bordeaux. 'Let's go,' he said.

'Where did you find that?' marvelled Oliviera, as they walked up the ramp.

'You don't find wine like this.' Johanson smirked. 'You have to bring it with you. I'm an expert at smuggling contraband goods.'

'Is it a good one? I don't know much about wines.'

'It's a Chateau Clinet from Pomerol, 1990 vintage. Lightens the wallet and the mood.' Johanson spotted a metal crate next to one of the booths between the ship's ribs. They headed over to it and sat down. The deck was deserted. The gateway to the starboard-side elevator gave them a clear view of the sea. The water lay calm and smooth in the half-light of the polar night, ice-free but wreathed in frosty mist. It was cold in the hangar bay, but they were in need of fresh air after hours in the containment lab. Johanson opened the bottle, poured some wine, and clinked glasses with Oliviera, a bright pinging sound.

'Lovely,' she said.

'I packed a few bottles for special occasions. And I'd say this is one of them.'

'Do you think we're on their scent?'

'We could be very nearly there.'

'So we've found the yrr?'

'Well, that's the question. We don't know what we've got inside that tank. Is it possible for single-cell organisms, for amoebas, to be intelligent?'

'When I look at humanity, I sometimes wonder whether we're much different from them.'

'We're more complex.'

'Is that an advantage?'

'What would you say?'

Oliviera shrugged. 'What kind of answer do you expect from someone who's spent the last God-knows-how-long doing nothing but microbiology? It's not like your job: there's no teaching involved. I never speak to a wider public, and I definitely suffer from acute lack of distance to myself. I'm a lab rat in human guise. I guess I tend to look at the world through my own specific lens, but I see micro-organisms wherever I go. We live in an age of bacteria. For over three billion years they've existed in their present form. Humanity is just a passing fashion, but even when the sun explodes, somewhere, somehow, a few of those microbes are bound to survive. They're the planet's real success story, not humans. I don't know if humans have any advantages over bacteria, but one thing's for certain: if we end up proving that microbes are intelligent, we'll be in more shit than they are.'

Johanson took a sip of wine. 'Just think of the embarrassment. Imagine the Church having to tell the faithful that God created his piece de resistance on the fifth day and not the seventh.'

'How are you managing to cope with all this?'

'So long as I've got a few bottles of vintage Bordeaux to hand, I don't see any major problems.'

'Aren't you angry?'

'With whom?'

'With those beings.'

'How would anger solve anything?'

'It wouldn't, Socrates.' Oliviera gave a wry smile. 'But I'm serious. I mean, they took away your home.'

'Part of it.'

'Don't you miss your house in Trondheim?'

Johanson swirled the wine in his glass. 'Not as much as I'd expected,' he said, after a moment's silence. 'It was a beautiful house, – but my life wasn't kept there. I have another a house by a lake in the middle of nowhere. You can sit on the veranda, look out at the water, listen to Sibelius and Brahms, and drink good wine. There's nothing like it.'

Johanson reached for the bottle and topped up their glasses. 'You'd understand if you'd been there. Watching the night sky reflected on the water – you can't forget a moment like that. Your whole existence seems to be concentrated in the stars. They're like pinpoints of light perforating the universe above and below. It's an incredible feeling, but you have to experience it for yourself.'

'Have you been there since the wave?'

'Only in my memory.'

'I've been lucky,' Oliviera said. 'So far I've been spared any loss. All my family and friends are fine. Everything's still standing.' She paused. 'But I don't have a house by a lake.'

'Everyone has a house by a lake.'

It seemed to her that Johanson wanted to say more, but he just swirled the wine in his glass. Eventually he spoke again: 'I lost a friend'.

Oliviera kept silent.

'She was a complicated person. Lived life at a sprint.' He smiled. 'It's funny, but we didn't really find each other until we'd both decided to let go. I guess that's life.'

'I'm sorry,' Oliviera said softly.

Suddenly Johanson's gaze shifted. He seemed almost transfixed. Oliviera turned. 'Is something wrong?'

'I just saw Rubin.'

'Where?'

Johanson pointed amidships towards the bulkhead at the end of the hangar. 'He went in there.'

'But there's nowhere to go.'

The far reaches of the hangar were shrouded in gloomy half-light. The bulkhead stretched up in an unbroken wall, sealing the hangar from the compartments beyond. There was no sign of any door.

'Maybe it's the wine,' she suggested.

Johanson shook his head. 'I could swear it was Rubin. He was there for a second, and then he disappeared.'

'Did he see us?'

'Unlikely. We're in shadows.

'Let's quiz him when his migraine's better.'

By the time they returned to the lab, they'd polished off half the bottle of Bordeaux, but Oliviera didn't feel in the slightest bit tipsy, just pleasantly exhilarated and ready to discover great things.

Which was exactly what she did.

The sequencer in the containment facility had done its work. They viewed the results on the computer terminal in the main lab. The screen showed a row of DNA sequences. Oliviera's eyes darted back and forth as she followed the lines down the screen. 'That's impossible,' she said softly.

'What is?' Johanson leaned over her shoulder. Then two vertical ridges formed in his brow. 'They're all different.'