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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.
He needn't have worried. Not about Ishie, any how. But now Ishie was gesturing him over. "Mike," he said, "you must show me in detail. In exact detail. What did you do? What was your procedure?" Mike came over and casually reached towards the churkling device, saying "Why, I " but Ishie reacted with catlike swiftness, blocking the man before he could even touch the rack. "No, don't touch it!
Mike do you know what this means?" His eyes were alight. His voice was reverent. He sprang from the bunk and knelt before the rack that held the churkling Confusor. "My pretty," he said. "My delicate pretty. What you have done! Mike, we've got a space drive!" "Ishie. Don't you realize? We wiped out Thule!" "Thule, schmule Mike, we've got a space drive!" Mike grinned to himself.
His eyes strayed across the various panels and racks and came to rest in the one hundred twelve degree area. A number of vacant racks, some holding the testing equipment he had moved there not too many hours before and churkling quietly in its rack near the floor, Ishie's Confusor of Confusion. Mike contemplated the device with awed respect, then phrased another question for the Cow.
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