When the contraption was in full operation, he simply sat on his heels and watched, studying out in his mind the circuits and their effects.
The interruption of the magnetic resonance by the electrostatic field—by the DC—with the RF plumbing—twisted by—each time the concept came towards the surface, it sank back as he tried to pull it into consciousness.
Churkling to itself, the device continued applying its alternate fields and warps and strains.
"It's a Confusor out of Confusion by Ishie, who is probably as great a creator of Confusion as you could ask," Mike told himself, forgetting his own part in the matter, watching intently, waiting for the concept to come clear in his mind.
Presently he went over to his console, to his pads of paper and pencils, and began sketching rapidly, drawing the interlocking and repulsing fields, the alignments, mathing out the stresses—in an attempt to visualize just what it was that the Confusor would now be doing....
In the Confusor itself, a tiny chunk of plastic, four by four inches square and one-half inch thick, resting in the middle of the machine between the carefully aligned pole-faces of the magnet, was subjected to the cumulatively devised stresses, a weird distortion of its own stresses and of the inertia that was its existence.
Each proton and electron within the plastic felt an urge to be where it wasn't—felt a pseudo-memory, imposed by the outside stresses, of having been traveling at a high velocity towards the north star, on which the machine chanced to be oriented; felt the new inertia of that velocity....
Each proton and electron fitted itself more snugly against the north pole face and pushed with the entire force of its newly-imposed inertial pattern.
Forty pounds to the square inch six hundred forty pounds over the surface of the block, the plastic did its best to assume the motion that the warped laws of its existence said that it already had.