Tiger : TiGeR?

A Philosophy of Biology SF Story

*BANG*

“So, anyways Johnson, your thinking on this is completely wrong. History, history, history. That is what matters when considering species. We can’t just go around grouping fauna together based on appearances alone, that would be chaos!” Dr. Henry Smithe said with an air of superiority, made complete with the addition of another puff on his silver tobacco flute.

Dr. James Johnson sat back down in his lev-chair, throwing both his hands up in exasperation. “Clearly, I think that history matters, I just don’t think it’s everything. I mean clearly! Consider our own tigers, Smithe. They are in fact tigers!”

Smithe sprung forward in his own lev-chair, firmly planting his feet on the plas-steel flooring. In his excitement, he forgot about his tobacco flute and let it fall to the floor of the laboratory with a *ping* which was immediately followed by another *BANG* in the distance.

“Mars-tigers are not tigers, Johnson! They’re purple for Darwin’s sake!”

Johnson dropped his head into his open palm. “So what if they’re purple?” he hissed. “Even back on earth we have leucistic variants of tigers that present as white! Our Mars-tigers are molecule for molecule duplicates of mother earth grown Terran tigers but for the one phenotypical irregularity, the purpleness—but it’s so obvious that they fit under the same natural kind as Terran tigers.”

Smithe leaned to retrieve his tobacco flute from the floor. He rose and stood erect in front of his lev-chair with all the pomposity of a 20^th century übermench. Putting his right arm behind his back, he raised the flute back to his lips with his left hand, a gesture meant to portray an erudite calmness.

*BANG*

“This talk of ‘kinds’ is all very Aristotelian or biblical or what have you, but it’s not science, it smacks of teleology, Johnson, and that just has no business in the hard-nosed bio-chemistry at play in our genetic mimesis project here on Mars and on the colony satellites.”

*BANG*

Johnson softened his tone in one last attempt to convince his new lab-mate, “it just seems to me that Mars-tigers are true tigers. It doesn’t matter if we used the Mimicresh-6 to 3D print the first pair, they clearly still fit under the Panthera tigris even if we owe a ‘Mārs’ addendum.”

*BANG*

“Johnson, they have no causal history in common with any Panthera, nor any Pantherinae! Not even any ancestor in common with the Felidae. If it has no common ancestor with any other Felidae, then it just obviously cannot be a tiger. Does it bear a strong resemblance? Sure. But remember, the first pair, as you have already noted, were spun up whole cloth. We didn’t borrow any DNA from any Terran feline—we encoded everything. We built those first Martian tiger spermata and those first two ova. On your view, we—what, merely reinvented the wheel? No, Johnson, we have created something truly unique here. Mars-tigers are the first organisms invented wholly by Man.”

Just then chief security officer, Jackson Clad, burst through the laboratory doors. “Holy crap! There you two are! Do you not have your coms on? Do you not see all those flashing lights on your monitors?!” *BANG* “Do you not hear that banging?”

“Sorry, chap, I was just setting old Johnson here straight about the virtues of Darwinistic taxonomy over against his ancient voodoo ‘kinds’ nonsense. What’s all the hubbub? I was just about to make some real progress in—”

“—Never mind that, Smithe, I’ve got to get you two out of here now! Let’s go!”

*BANG-BANG*

“Now hang on there, Clad, you can be our tie breaking vote and then we’ll go with you anywhere you like. Do you think Mars-tigers and Terran tigers ought to both be classified as true tigers? Do they both fit under some cosmic ‘kind’? If an animal that appeared tigerly popped up on Europa” *BANG-BANG* “with zero historical connection to Terran tigers, would you class—”

*BANG-CRACK*

“Wuh… what was that?” the newly concerned Smithe asked his security officer.

*BANG-CRACK-PSSHHHEEEEIIIII*

“I said never mind all that crap, Smithe. That sound was the Mars Tigers. They found their way out of their enclosures an hour ago and it sounds like they’ve figured out how to penetrate the therma-glass on the observatory next door. Great idea suping up a bunch of tigers, by the way, doc! Now we’re in a tight spot!”

Jackson Clad pulled out his standard issue MP (Mercenary-Protectorate) laz-tube and blasted Dr. Johnson right through the chest.

“Woah what the hell, Clad?!” cried Smithe. “You—you just laz-fragged Johnson!”

Jackson Clad furrowed his brow in slight confusion. “He was a printo, Smithe, a knockoff. What’re you getting all worked up for? Didn’t you know? They decanted him with a Mimicresh-13 on Iapetus a few years back. I’m sure they can just 3D print us another one once we get outta this mess—that is, IF we get outta this mess. Now come on, let the printo cats worry about printo Johnson. His sacrifice may just save us yet.”

“Well, Clad, that’s super dark, but I guess that means you’re voting with me. Okay, let’s get out of here, I may have to reconsider some stuff.”