A Matter of Physics

I examined the metal Newton's cradle sitting silently on the polished wood before committing any physical force. Its five chrome spheres hung in impeccable, unblinking alignment. Pausing for four deliberate seconds to confirm they were completely dormant, I tucked my little blaster under my arm and drew back the leftmost ball by three-eighths of an inch. I released it. The sphere clicked cleanly against the row, sending the opposite ball flying outward in a prompt, indignant arc. I froze instantly, maintaining absolute eye contact with a porcelain coaster while the rhythm tapped away—click, click, click—vibrating straight through the tabletop into my heels. The kinetic momentum proved remarkably stubborn, but after twenty-two impacts, total obedience was restored.