There is a creature on the ship.
I think it came in on the last planet we visited…
…Maybe.
It's equally likely that it spontaneously generated from the last batch of protein-substitute as, I'm pretty certain that, on occasion, I've detected a rudimentary intelligence glaring up at me from my plate at mealtimes.
Actually, this gives me the opportunity to practice my word for the week; it's another Shepherd word although it is equally applicable to the potential spawning of a life-form from our food. This week's word is parthenogenesis, which means: asexual reproduction. I have to admit that, in the grand scheme of things, I would have expected the asexual generation of a life-form on the ship to come from the continual meeting of Simon's head with Simon's arse and not our dinner; but who am I to question the fundaments of biology?
I just want to note that I'm not learning new words to 'better myself' – I like the original just fine; what I do enjoy, is the look of confusion, and fear, on the crew's [and others'] faces when I break out with the smart-words. I think it undermines their view of an ordered verse.
So, parthenogenesis, or invasion by unknown creature?
I tend to favour the notion of spontaneous generation, as the last planet we visited – on a real, paying, honest-to-god job, was a satellite-based, hospital planet, where even the fake grass had been sterilised to within an inch of its artificial life. I guess it's possible that a real, live, non-sterilised life-form was attempting to escape its antiseptic prison (as it was from that point forward that the signs of incursion began to appear), but that only leaves the question of how it got there in the first place, as the possibility that it spontaneously generated in such an antiseptic setting is even LESS likely than the idea that something spontaneously generated from our food.
Not. My. Problem.
What *is* my problem are the desiccated bodies of the unfortunate rodents that are routinely appearing about the ship. (I learnt what desiccated meant when Simon threw his toys when I asked his lunatic sister if she felt like throwing knives in the hold – we have an ongoing competition with various targets set up: we get points for accuracy and difficulty. Doctor Dipshit started ranting about my base nature, and desiccated intellect, and how dare I talk to his sister... yadda yadda yadda…).
I don't mind if the creature leaves the results of its depredations in everyone else's stuff. In fact the idea of Inara's finest whore-wear decorated with the latest range of rodent guts is pretty appealing; at least in terms of the level of disgust it would generate.
Better yet, Inara would blame Mal.
By the way: yes, we have rats, you can't keep the little buggers out; I think they have super powers. We also have cockroaches, which appear to have retained the tenacity and violent objection to death, dismemberment and pesticides that characterised their existence on the Earth that was: I kind of like them – if only because they make the doctor squeal.
The final straw, however, was when the little – assuming it's little – bastard (assuming its parents weren't formally introduced – likely, in the case of spontaneously generating protein creatures) left a disembowelled rat in my gun case.
Bastard.