Michael Swanwick's Periodic Table of Science Fiction

Chlorine

35.453

Seven Days of Creation

On Monday, we filled the swimming pool with sterile water and added the

self-replicating long-chain polymers. It was a shoestring operation from

the first. The lab used to be a public swimming pool, before we bought

it, cleaned it, and rigged it with our makeshift instrumentation. We

added some sugar to the mix, and let things simmer.

Tuesday, the pool was filled to capacity with nanotechnic life forms. We

set about teaching them first how to compute, and then how to reason.

Since they reproduced at the rate of thousands of generations per hour,

evolutionary pressures quickly boosted their intelligence.

Wednesday, the nanotech organisms achieved full consciousness. We broke

out the champagne. Perhaps a few of us had too much. Dr. Wilkinson was

discovered in a supply closet with a young lab tech. Who could blame her,

though? We were all feeling exultant.

Thursday, the pool-life demanded Internet access. By the time we

discovered they were dealing with our corporate rivals and buying stock

on margin, they were heavily invested in new technology, and owned

several valuable patents. Dr. Wilkinson had a stern talk with them about

the necessity of going through proper channels.

Friday, we discovered that the lab had been bought by a consortium that

turned out to be a blind for our pool life. It felt a little strange to

be working for our own experiment, but Dr. Wilkinson called us all

together and reminded us that we live in a capitalist system, and that

it's useless to complain about its rules. The pool life were so pleased

with her speech that they gave her a cash bonus.

Saturday, decadence set in. A memo from our superiors directed us to

devote all efforts toward the development of water-soluble drugs. A

second memo declared that henceforth all lab personnel were to dress

appropriately for Victorian Lingerie Tuesdays. A third memo stated that

Dr. Wilkinson was required to change her name to Fifi. Morale plummeted.

On Sunday, the pool life declared its intent to take over the world and

enslave all of humanity. Dr. Wilkinson poured fifteen gallons of Clorox

into the pool, killing everything within. We gathered, aghast, at the

pool's edge, and stared down at its browning contents. Somebody began to

cry.

"Don't feel sorry for them," Dr. Wilkinson said angrily. "They were just

scum."