Fine resort. Great planet. Not too many visitors, though. The reason is simple: the locals are rather particular about the ecological state of their home. They dutifully protect species that many would argue should not be allowed to exist to begin with. At times, it seems that their respect for the horrifying things that inhabit the planet takes on a religious fervor.

The plant life around the resort looks picturesque, but it is there that one can run into rakes and eight-tooths. Though unmistakably different in appearance, they belong to the same species, as the eight-tooths are pre-pubescent rakes. Not that it makes them any less dangerous.

The natives consider being eaten by the wildlife a privilege. They refer to it as “becoming one with nature.” They don’t understand the concept of a cemetery or even a crypt. When they reach a certain age, they say goodbye to their loved ones and walk out (walking may not be the right term, as they actually crawl on their forty-two pseudolegs) into the wilderness, where they are immediately devoured. The more painful the death, I’m told, the more bliss they will enjoy in the afterlife (or perhaps the after-digestion life).

The tourists are just here on vacation, however, and don’t find the prospect of being eaten appealing. Sure, nature is well protected from us, but we aren’t in any way protected from nature. If a sentient being kills any local beastie—be it by accident or on purpose—they risk a hefty fine. That is why every tourist is allowed to bring a pet to ensure their own safety.

You see, local laws allow a non-sentient being to kill other non-sentient beings without limit or consequence, even if it is done at the explicit command of the sentient owner. They are odd customs, to be sure. The sort of pet you bring is entirely up to you, although lately a few exceptions have been introduced.

For example, the pet you bring with you must be a multi-cellular organism. That requirement came about after an unfortunate incident when a tourist brought a vial containing a pet virus. The virus proceeded to wipe out the entire species that happened to be at the top of the local food chain. The natives still haven’t recovered from their grief.

I tried to talk about that incident with my next-door neighbor. He is a small, sabre-toothed humanoid, accompanied everywhere he goes by an enormous, hideous monster with deadly-looking pincers. My attempt at conversation revealed that the pincer-monster is the guest and the two-legged toothy dwarf is the pet, a ferocious, difficult-to-train beast named Uhrl. That was a very short and uncomfortable conversation.

I must admit: humanoids are a weakness of mine. What marvelous creatures! When I meet one, I freeze, forgetting all rules of etiquette. I stare agape at their impossible acrobatic act of balancing on just the two legs that nature has given them. I feel a strange mixture of pity and awe. How does one even survive having only a pair each of eyes, ears, and nostrils? Why even have two for that matter, since each one is so close to their counterpart? Yet, judging by their disposition, they don’t even realize how disadvantaged they are.

There is only one sentient humanoid at the resort at this moment. His name is Vik, and he is from a planet called Earth. More about him, later.

As for myself, I require no pet or guardian. In a strange coincidence, I resemble the predator species that was wiped out by the virus. Upon seeing me, all other predators play dead, since they remember that resistance is futile.

I knew, though, that coming here without a pet would present all sorts of bureaucratic hang-ups, and so I brought a harmless cilium, named U. Because of me, U now has the reputation of the fiercest bodyguard on the planet, with the exception of Vik’s critter.

As far as I know, only one tourist was allowed to come and stay without a pet. He came from a faraway world with a methane atmosphere, so he is encased in a crab-like suit with impenetrable armor. It wouldn’t allow oxygen through, let alone a rake. I’m not sure what enjoyment he derives from being here. Perhaps when he returns to his home planet, breathes in some fresh methane and gets his hands on a nice cup of chilled hydrocarbon, he’ll enjoy telling his friends tall tales about the dangers he encountered on his trip.

There’s one other tourist who arrived without a pet, but since he’s a plant-based life form, all he has to worry about are the herbivores. So they forced him to rent a local bodyguard. A trained rake was too expensive, so he settled for an eight-tooth. He immediately attached himself to it with his tendrils and began using it as a surprisingly convenient mode of transportation. Now he can venture into the wilderness, where only I, the methane-breather and, of course, Vik from Earth, dare to tread.

Not that he doesn’t have to deal with any problems; first, while on resort territory, even a trained eight-tooth has to have his teeth capped. All eight of them. The second issue is my presence. Just like all the other fauna on the planet, his eight-tooth faints at the sight of me and it takes him a while to recover. I never even got to learn the eight-tooth’s name.

What a bother these pets are. Most pets, fierce predators and loyal guardians on their worlds, prove completely ineffective here. Their owners are forced to spend the entire vacation confined to the resort compound. At times, the upkeep of the pets exceeds the cost of the vacation.

My cilium is cheap on the upkeep. It never complains, and eats table scraps. But Vik from Earth — that’s another story. He is forced to drag around a whole box filled with little tins of food for his pet. Fortunately for him, it seems to hibernate most of the time (perhaps the climate disagrees with it). In case of danger, Vik has to violently shake it awake; I’ve seen this personally. Strange creature, this pet. It seems an inconvenience for Vik to constantly carry it in his arms, but humanoids appear to enjoy discomfort.

Recently, I asked Victor if his pet had a name. It was a tongue-twister, which took me three attempts to pronounce:

Modernized Kalashnikov Rifle.