A qubit's hidden direction turns at a rate set by the field around it. On page 2 that was a nuisance. Here it is the whole point. Start the arrow, let the world turn it, read how far it went, and you have measured the field. This is how the clocks behind GPS work, and how a diamond can sense the magnetic field of a beating heart.
A compass needle swings to point along a field and stops. A qubit's arrow does something different. It keeps turning around the field, and the stronger the field, the faster it turns.
Seen from above, a sideways arrow is a clock hand. The field sets how fast it goes round.
The dial below is the sphere seen from the top, so you are watching the hidden direction directly. Turn up the field and the hand speeds up. Double the field and it goes round twice as fast. Every qubit does this, and the rate for a given field is a fixed number for each kind of qubit. That number is what turns a qubit into a ruler for fields.
You cannot see the hand turn. You can only look, and looking reads height. So tip the hand back up before you look, and the height tells you how far it turned.
Tip sideways, wait, tip back, look. The chance of reading 0 goes up and down as the wait gets longer, and the field sets how fast.
This four-step recipe is the same fork-in-the-road from page 2, with the delay set by the world instead of by you. Slide the wait time. The chance swings between 100 percent and 0 percent, one full swing for every full turn of the hand. Now change the field. The swings get faster or slower. If you know the wait and count the swings, you know the field.
One look gives a 0 or a 1, which says almost nothing about the chance. A thousand looks pin the chance down to a few percent, and that pins down the field.
A hundred times more looks makes the answer ten times better. The error shrinks with the square root of the count.
The page hides a field strength. Choose how many times to run the stopwatch experiment and it counts the zeros, works out the chance, and turns that into a field estimate with an error bar. Watch the error bar shrink as you add looks, and notice that it shrinks slowly. Ten times the looks buys only about three times the precision.
A longer wait means a bigger angle and a more sensitive measurement. But stray fields from everything nearby jiggle the hand, and after a while its direction is scrambled.
Wait longer for more sensitivity, but not too long, because the swings fade away. There is a best waiting time.
Every atom near the qubit makes its own tiny field, and they all wobble. The hand picks up a little random extra turn each moment. Average over many runs and the swings in the chance get shallower and shallower. Physicists call the time it takes for them to fade the coherence time. Turn up the noise and watch the swings die.
Quantum sensors are not a future technology. Some of them have been running for decades, and one of them is in orbit above you right now.
The same fragility that makes quantum computers hard to build makes quantum sensors easy to make sensitive. A qubit forgets its direction because it feels every field around it. A sensor is a qubit whose forgetting you have learned to read. Which is why the people who build better qubits for computing and the people who build better sensors are often the same people, working on the same materials.
That is the end of the three pages. A bit is a switch. A qubit is an arrow with a hidden direction. Turn the direction on purpose and you can make wrong answers cancel, which is computing. Let the world turn it and read how far it went, which is sensing. Everything else is detail, and the detail is where the careers are.