You don't want any direct interference between each target and the next. There's no continous reaction of some kind. The idea is that you inject a target into the chamber, you fire lasers at it to compress and heat it to the right conditions; it goes poof and releases a bunch of energy; then you wait just long enough for debris to settle before you start all over again.
The engine analogy isn't too bad. You put a fuel-air mix(target) into the engine cylinder(reactor), compress it and ignite it with a spark(lasers). Some of the energy thereby produced goes into operating the spark-plug, lights and whatever else a car needs in future cycles. If you get much more power out of the engine than it takes to operate the necessities, you have a lot of energy left over with which to make the car go forward(feed electricity into the grid), then you're in business.
In the control room there were whispered introductions: "Dr. Remington, Dr. Mitty. Dr. Pritchard-Mitford, Dr. Mitty."
"I've read your book on plasma feedback control systems," said Pritchard-Mitford, shaking hands. "A brilliant performance, sir."
"Thank you," said Walter Mitty.
"Didn't know you were in the States, Mitty," grumbled Remington. "Coals to Newcastle, bringing Mitford and me up here for a tertiary."
"You are very kind," said Mitty. The tokamak, visible through the control room window, began at this moment to go pocketa-pocketa-pocketa.
"The new feed system is out of sync!" shouted a technician. "There is no one in the East who knows how to fix it!"
"Quiet, man!" said Mitty, in a low, cool voice. He sprang to a terminal, as the tokamak began going pocketa-pocketa-queep-pocketa-queep . He began fingering delicately. Columns of twelve digit coefficients appeared on the screen. He glanced at them, paged down, glanced again.
The technician was no longer shouting, but stood tensely, leaning toward the exit.
"Give me the root password!" Mitty snapped, making a hasty edit. Someone set a card down by the keyboard. The short patch was sudo'd into place. "That should do for now," he said. "But tell them that control loop really needs a third order filter."
Another tech hurried over and whispered to Renshaw, and Mitty saw the man turn pale. "The decline in output has destabilized the grid," said Renshaw nervously. "If you would take over, Mitty?"
Mitty looked at him and at the craven figure of Benbow, who drank, and at the grave, uncertain faces of the two great specialists. "If you wish," he said.