Buddy was taken aback. He hadn't noticed the visitor, and no one had ever complimented him on his talent before. "Gee," he said shyly.
—One is truly skilled at the art, the Snurp said. —What might one do with superior equipment?
Buddy looked at it. The Snurp had bug ears and worm eyes and slug feet, but was otherwise rather strange. Buddy did not understand all the words, but he liked the tone.
—How would one like to compete in the regional wood-splitting junior championship tournament?
Buddy didn't know what "compete" meant, or "regional," and the last three words were beyond human assimilation, but he certainly grasped the important part: "wood splitting." "Is that good?" he asked, knowing that it was.
—Very good, the alien said. —All one has to do is split wood fast and well. There are prizes for the best.
"Is that fun?"
—Much fun, especially for the winners.
Buddy knew his sisters would object, so he agreed to go with the Snurp. He was about to take his hatchet and hammer and chisel and penknife along, but the alien said —One must employ standard equipment.
He followed the glistening trail of the Snurp to a structure resembling a giant washing machine. They climbed in. Actually, the Snurp didn't climb so much as slide uphill. The lid settled down, warm bubbly fluid flowed into surround them, and the thing went into a violent spin cycle.
Buddy was frightened, for he had never been inside a washing machine before when it was running. But the Snurp reassured him: —One must endure transspace only momentarily.
Sure enough, the spinning stopped and he wasn't even dizzy. The wash water drained, leaving him comfortably dry (he'd have to tell Mom about that!), and the lid lifted. They climbed/slid out.
The sunlight was green and the bushes were transparent, but aside from that the scenery was unusual. Buddy ignored it.
—One is just in time, the Snurp said. —Familiarize oneself with the equipment while one's agent attends to the registration.
Buddy paid no attention to the incomprehensible sentence. He went directly to the nearest chopping block. It was a marveclass="underline" great and square, with pockets in the sides for wonderful splitting tools. There was an elegant axe, a hatchet, a maul, six graduated wedges—all smooth and new and brightly colored. The top of the block was sturdy and flat, without even any chop marks or splinters. Of course the axe and maul were too big and heavy for him to manage, but it was nice having them there to look at.
**Contestants! a voice proclaimed, and Buddy looked up to find a metal eyeball poised above his block. **Assume your stance.
The Snurp reappeared. —Here is a smaller maul for one. Will this suffice?
"Can I use your hammer?" Buddy asked eagerly. "That's just right!"
The Snurp gave him the small maul. —Excellent. Now one must stand by the block, as the others are doing. Commence attack the moment the initial sample appears.
"Can I have some wood to split?"
**First phase, the eyeball said. **Purple Ash, bias facet. Proceed.
A chunk of wood appeared on the block, startling Buddy. But he saw that the same thing had happened on every block, and the birdlike and lizardlike and crablike aliens were hefting their tools. It was time to split!
The chunk was beautifuclass="underline" deep blue-red with burnished black grain-ridges that angled through it strangely. It was like no wood he had ever seen, and certainly not like Earthly white ash. But it could be split! His feel for the difficult grain assured him of that.
He pondered, then placed the smallest wedge at a critical nexus, and tapped it in three times, just so. He did not dare hit too hard, here, for that would foul the interior cleavage. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. And of course he had had long experience with difficult wood. Then he placed the next larger wedge against the appropriate stress point and struck it four times, harder.
On the last blow the log fell open, neatly halved.
—Time! the Snurp cried.
The metal eyeball appeared again and winked open. Buddy saw no support for it; it was just hanging in midair. **Approved, it said, and disappeared.
—Excellent! One has superseded Phase One with credit to spare! the Snurp exulted.
The split pieces vanished. Buddy looked around, having nothing better to do. This was fun, but he was beginning to feel hungry.
Next block down, a rooster with octopus tentacles was pounding at a large wedge. The placement was wrong, and the wood was resisting and cracking the wrong way. Buddy knew it would finally split, but messily and not into halves.
On the other side a beaver with four monkey-arms was using the axe to chop at his chunk. Chips were flying, but the wood refused to split.
**Disqualified! the official voice said, echoing down the line of blocks wherever wood remained unsplit. All those who had failed retired regretfully. There were still a great many funny-looking creatures in the contest, however.
**Second phase. Vinegar Maple, twitch grain.
Another chunk appeared. Buddy saw at once that it was a really nasty piece. The grain went every which way, folding back on itself jaggedly, and the wood was very hard. It smelled like salad dressing, making him want to sneeze. But it could be split. His head spun with the formless calculations involved, but he finally saw the correct procedure. He tapped five wedges into place, carefully considering each location, so that they were sticking out all over. Then he pounded on them in what he felt to be the proper order. The log began to tick, unevenly. He tapped some more, until the ticking was loud and even. At last he took the hatchet and plunged it into the heartwood exposed between the two largest wedges, severing the twitchiest strand of all.
The chunk stopped ticking. It shuddered, fired off a crackling volley of splinters, expired, and fell apart along the tortuous crevice opened by the wedges. Sap dribbled out, its lifeblood, and in that death agony the salad smell wafted aloft strongly.
—Time! the Snurp cried, heedless of the carnage.
**Approved! the inspector eye said. The wood vanished. Buddy was relieved; there was something he didn't like about the split.
He looked about again. The rooster and the beaver were gone, having been eliminated in the first phase. The adjacent blocks were now occupied by a fish with six handlike fins and a monster ladybug. The ladybug had split her chunk; the fish had misplaced one wedge and was unable to reach the heartwood cleanly. An agonized keening emanated from his wood.
**Disqualified! the fish's eye cried. He swam away sadly, but Buddy was glad that chunk of wood had survived.
Now there were only a dozen splitters left, including Buddy. He was enjoying this, though he was more hungry than ever. Time seemed short when he was working on a sample, but he had been here pretty long.
**Third phase. Scorch Punk, medium rare.
A huge, blackened, grainless mass appeared on his block. He didn't have to worry about killing this; it was more than dead already. And he was in trouble, for he knew the wedges would merely sink into the spongy punk without splitting it. And as for his hatchet—
He saw the ladybug swing her axe at her chunk. The blade cut right into the center—but the wood closed in above it and wouldn't let go, no matter how hard she yanked. It was as though the punk had become stone, anchoring the tool.
Buddy had a bright idea. He struck the wood with his maul, using no wedge. It hardened on contact, and softened again only gradually. He struck it harder, repeatedly, making a pattern of hardness around the top. Then he chopped with the hatchet—and the block cracked along that hard line!
It was cracked but not split. Now he had to place his wedges quickly in the crevice, tapping each to make the hardness form inside, then removing them before they were trapped. Again he chipped, slicing deep into the crack—and it broke open wider.