It was a strange party that Li had arranged, with the steel tower of the island behind them and the lonely expanse of the sea all around. In the distance they could see surreal peaks of retreating mist, and the red ball of the sun low on the horizon. The clean air felt invigoratingly cold, and a deep blue sky stretched high above.

At first everyone discussed anything other than the circumstances that had brought them together – but there was something awkward, almost desperate, about their determination to stick to polite conversation. As midnight approached, and dusk descended, they were on first-name terms and gathered in groups around the experts, seeking comfort where there was none to be found.

'Seriously, though,' said Buchanan, shortly after one o'clock, 'you can't tell me you really believe all that stuff about intelligent amoebas.'

'Why not?' said Crowe.

'We're talking about real intelligence, right?'

'I should think so.'

'Well…' Buchanan fumbled for the right words '. . . I'm not saying that all intelligent beings should look like us, but you'd think they'd be more complex than amoebas. Chimps are supposed to be intelligent, aren't they? Whales and dolphins too. They're all creatures with complex bodies and big brains. Ants are too small to be truly intelligent – you said so yourself- so how's it supposed to work for amoebas?'

'Are you sure you're not confusing two different issues?'

'What.'

'The truth, and what you'd like the truth to be.'

'What do you mean?'

'She means,' said Peak, 'that we'd prefer our enemy to be powerful and strong. In other words, if we have to concede defeat to anyone, we'd rather it was to a race of tall, good-looking creatures.'

Buchanan slammed his hand on the table. 'Well, I don't buy it. Primitive organisms aren't supposed to rule the planet. There's no way that an amoeba can be as intelligent as man. No way. Humans mean progress, they-'

'Progress?' Crowe shook her head. 'What do you mean by progress? Is evolution progress?'

Buchanan looked hunted.

'Let's see, then,' said Crowe. 'Evolution is the struggle for existence, as Darwin called it. The survival of the fittest. Whichever way you look at it, it means triumph in the face of adversity – either by succeeding over other organisms or by surviving natural disasters. Natural selection allows organisms to adapt. But does that necessarily mean organisms become more complex? And is complexity progress?'

'Evolution isn't my field,' said Peak, 'but the way I see it, most creatures have been getting bigger and more complex throughout the course of time. Humans are the perfect example. Organisms increase in size and complexity. In my book, that makes it a trend.'

'A trend? No. What we call history is only a passing moment in time. Sure, nature is currently experimenting with complexity, but who's to say that it won't lead to an evolutionary dead end? We're vastly overestimating our own importance if we see ourselves at the forefront of any natural trend. Think of the tree of life – that diagram with branches sprouting off in all directions. Where would you see humanity on it, Sal? As a main branch or one of its offshoots?'

'Goes without saying. A main branch.'

'That's what I expected. It's a typically human way of seeing things. If various offshoots of a genus die out, we tend to assume that the surviving offshoot is the central branch. Why? Well, because – for the moment, at any rate – it's still there. But what if it's just an unimportant side branch that's managed to survive a little longer than the rest? Humans are the only remaining bud on an evolutionary branch that once flourished. We're the leftovers from a biological development whose other offshoots withered and died, the last survivors of an experiment named Homo. Homo Australopithecus: extinct. Homo habilis: extinct. Homo sapiens neanderthalensis: extinct. Homo sapiens sapiens: still extant. We may have mastered the Earth for the moment, but evolutionary parvenus shouldn't confuse ascendancy with inherent superiority or long-term survival. We could disappear from this planet faster than we'd like to think.'

'Maybe you're right,' said Peak. 'But you're forgetting one thing. This one surviving species is the only species with highly developed consciousness.'

'Sure. But consider the development of consciousness within the context of nature as a whole. Can you really see any overall progress or general trend? Eighty per cent of all multicellular organisms have been far more successful in evolutionary terms than mankind, without ever being part of this supposed trend towards neural complexity. The fact that we're endowed with intelligence and consciousness is only evidence of progress from our particular viewpoint. We're just some bizarre evolutionary sideshow that's arisen against all the odds. There's only one thing that the human species has contributed to the ecosystem of this planet, and that's a whole lot of trouble.'

'Well, I still think humans are behind all this,' Vanderbilt was saying at the neighbouring table. 'But, OK, I'm prepared to be proven wrong. If it turns out that we're not up against a human enemy, I'll be launching an operation in yrr surveillance instead. Don't you worry! The CIA will trail those unicellular slimeballs until we know exactly how their minds work and what they're planning next.'

He was standing with Delaware and Anawak, surrounded by soldiers and crew.

'Dream on,' said Delaware. 'Not even the CIA could manage that.'

'What would you know about it, honey?' scoffed Vanderbilt. 'If you're patient enough, you can slip inside any mind you choose – even if it belongs to an amoeba. It's just a question of time.'

'No, it's a question of being able to see things objectively,' said Anawak. 'And that presupposes the ability to adopt an objective point of view.'

'We can do that. We're intelligent, civilised beings.'

'You might be intelligent, Jack, but you're not capable of viewing nature objectively.'

'In fact, your viewpoint is as subjective and restricted as any other animal's,' said Delaware.

'Which particular animal did you have in mind?' Vanderbilt chuckled. 'A walrus?'

Anawak gave a short laugh. 'I'm serious, Jack. We're closer to nature than we think.'

'Well, I'm not. I'm a city boy. Never did like the country. Same as my old man.'

'Makes no difference,' said Delaware. 'Think of how we feel about snakes, for example. We admire them as much as we fear them. It's the same with sharks. There are all kinds of shark divinities. Man's emotional reliance on other forms of life is inborn. It might even be genetic.'

'You're talking about tribespeople. I'm talking about city folk.'

'OK.' Anawak thought for a moment. 'Have you got any phobias? Anything you really don't like?'

'Well, I wouldn't call it a phobia, exactly…' Vanderbilt trailed off.

'An aversion, then?'

'Yes.'

To what?'

Just the usual. I don't like spiders.'

'Why?'

'Well, because…' Vanderbilt shrugged. 'They're disgusting. You find them disgusting, don't you?'

'Not really, but that's not the point. The point is, most phobias still plaguing civilised society derive from things that posed a threat to humanity in the past – before we lived in cities. Walls of rock that cave in on us, storms, floods, dark water, snakes, dogs, spiders. Why don't we develop phobias of guns, live wires, flick knives, cars, explosives and electric sockets? They're far more dangerous. But it's engrained in our minds: beware of snake-like creatures and many-legged insects.'

'The human brain developed in a natural, not a technological environment,' said Delaware. 'The evolution of our minds took place over a period of two million years, when we were living in intimate contact with our natural surroundings. It's even possible that the prehistoric rules of survival are inscribed in our genes. Either way, only a tiny fragment of our evolution took place during the so-called civilised era. Do you really think that just because your father and your father's father grew up in cities that all the formative information in your brain will have disappeared for good? Why are we afraid of small creatures that slither through the grass? Why don't you like spiders? It's because once upon a time fears like those saved our lives. Because individuals who were more susceptible to fear stayed out of danger and created more offspring. That's why, Jack. Do you see?'