Robert Sheckley - The Odour of Thought

All he had to do, Cleevy thought, was not to think of -was to think of something else. In that way, perhaps the — well, perhaps it would lose the scent. He started to think about the girls he had ever known, in painstaking detail.

The panther stopped and pawed the ground doubtfully.

Cleevy went on thinking; about girls, and ships, and planets, and girls, and ships, and everything but panthers...

The panther advanced another five feet.

Damn it, he thought, how do you not think of something? You think furiously about stones and rocks and People and places and things, but your mind always returns to - but you ignore that and concentrate on your sainted grandmother, your drunken old father, the bruises on your right leg. (Count them. Eight. Count them again. Still eight.) And now you glance up, casually, seeing, but not really recognizing the - anyhow, it's still advancing.

Cleevy found that trying not to think of something is like trying to stop an avalanche with your bare hands. He realized that the human mind couldn't be inhibited so directly and consciously as all that. It takes time and practice.

He had about fifteen feet left in which to learn how not to think of a ...

Well, there are also card games to think about, and parties, and dogs, cats, horses, mice, sheep, wolves (move away!), and bruises, battleships, caves, lairs, dens, cubs (watch out) p-paramounts, and tantamounts and gadabouts and roundabouts and roustabouts and ins-and-outs (about eight feet), meals, food, fire, fox, fur, pigs, pokes, prams, and p-p-p-p-...

The panther was about five feet away now and crouching for the spring. Cleevy couldn't hold back the thought any longer. Then, in a burst of inspiration, he thought:

Pantheress!

The panther, still crouching, faced him doubtfully.

Cleevy concentrated on the idea of a pantheress. He was a pantheress, and what did this panther mean by frightening her that way? He thought about his (her, damn it!) cubs, a warm cave, and of the pleasure of tracking down squirrels...

The panther advanced slowly and rubbed against Cleevy. Cleevy thought desperately. What fine weather we've been having, and what a fine panther this chap really is, so big, so strong, and with such enormous teeth.

The panther purred!

Cleevy lay down and curled an imaginary tail around him and decided he was going to sleep. The panther stood by indecisively. He seemed to feel that something was wrong. He growled once, deep in his throat, then turned and loped away.

The sun had just set, and the entire land was a deep blue. Cleevy found that he was shaking uncontrollably, and on the verge of hysterical laughter. If the panther had stayed another moment...

He controlled himself with an effort. It was time for some serious thinking.

Probably every animal had its characteristic thought-smell. A squirrel emitted one kind, a wolf another, and a human still another. The all-important question was, could he be traced only when he thought of some animal? Or could his thought patterns, like an odour, be detected even when he was not thinking of anything in particular?

Apparently, the panther had scented him only when he thought specifically of it. But that could be due to un-familiarity. His alien thought-smell might have confused the panther - this time.

He'd just have to wait and see. The panther probably wasn't stupid. It was just the first time that trick had been played on him.

Any trick will work - once.

Cleevy lay back and stared at the sky. He was too tired to move, and his bruised body ached. What would happen now, at night? Did the beasts continue to hunt? Or was there a truce of some sort? He didn't give a damn.

To hell with squirrels, wolves, panthers, lions, tigers, and reindeer.

He slept.

The next morning, he was surprised to find himself still alive. So far, so good. It might be a good day after all. Cheerfully he walked to his ship.

All that was left of Mailship 243 was a pile of twisted metal strewn across the scorched earth. Cleevy found a bar of metal, hefted it, and slid it into his belt below the mail sack. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it gave him a certain confidence.

The ship was a total loss. He left and began to look for food. In the surrounding countryside there were several fruit-bearing shrubs. He sampled one warily and found it tart, but not unpleasant. He gorged himself on fruit and washed it down with water from a nearby stream.

He hadn't seen any animals so far. Of course, for all he knew, they could be closing in on him now.

He avoided the thought and started looking for a place to hide. His best bet was to stay out of sight until the rescue ship came. He tramped over the gentle rolling hills, looking for a cliff, a tree, a cave. But the amiable landscape presented nothing larger than a six-foot shrub.

By afternoon he was tired and irritated, and scanning the skies anxiously. Why wasn't the ship here? It should take no longer than a day or two, he estimated, for a fast emergency ship to reach him.

If the postmaster was looking on the right planet.

There was a movement in the sky. He looked up, his heart racing furiously. There was something there!

It was a bird. It sailed slowly over him, balancing easily on its gigantic wings. It dipped once, then flew on.

It looked amazingly like a vulture.

He continued walking. In another moment, he found himself face to face with four blind wolves.

That took care of one question. He could be traced by his characteristic thought-smell. Evidently the beasts of this planet had decided he wasn't too alien to eat.

The wolves moved cautiously towards him. Cleevy tried the trick he had used the other day. Lifting the metal bar out of his belt, he thought of himself as a female wolf searching for her cubs. Won't one of you gentlemen help me find them? They were here only a few minutes ago. One was green, one was spotted, and the other ...

Perhaps these wolves didn't have spotted cubs. One of them leaped at Cleevy. Cleevy struck him in mid-air with his bar, and the wolf staggered back.

Shoulder to shoulder, the four closed in.

Desperately, Cleevy tried to think himself out of existence. No use. The wolves kept on coming.

Cleevy thought of a panther. He was a panther, a big one, and he was looking forward to a meal of wolf.

That stopped them. They switched their tails anxiously, but held their ground.

Cleevy growled, pawed the earth, and stalked forward. The wolves retreated, but one started to slip behind him.

He moved sideways, trying to keep from being circled. It seemed that they really didn't believe him. Perhaps he didn't make a good panther. They had stopped retreating.

One was behind him, and the others stood firm, their tongues lolling out on their wet, open jaws. Cleevy growled ferociously and swung his club. A wolf darted back, but the one behind him sprang, landed on the mail sack, and knocked him over.

As they piled on, Cleevy had another inspiration. He imagined himself to be a snake, very fast, deadly, with poison fangs that could take a wolf's life in an instant.

They were off him at once. Cleevy hissed and arched his boneless neck. The wolves howled angrily, but showed no inclination to attack.

Then Cleevy made a mistake. He knew that he should stand firm and brazen it out. But his body had its own ideas. Involuntarily he turned and sprinted away.

The wolves loped after him, and glancing up, Cleevy could see the vultures gathering for the remains. He controlled himself and tried to become a snake again, but the wolves kept coming.

The vultures overhead gave him an idea. As a spaceman, he knew what the land looked like from the air. Cleevy decided to become a bird. He imagined himself soaring, balanced easily on an updraft, looking down on the green, rolling land.