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 c. Typechecking for React Applications
i. PropTypes
ii. Flow
iii. TypeScript
d. Test-Driven Development
i. TDD and Learning
e. Incorporating Jest

i. Create React App and Testing

f. Testing React Components
i. Queries
ii. Testing Events
iii. Using Code Coverage
12. 11. React Router
a. Incorporating the Router
b. Router Properties
i. Nesting Routes
c. Using Redirects
i. Routing Parameters
13. 12. React and the Server
a. Isomorphic Versus Universal
i. Client and Server Domains
b. Server Rendering React
 c. Server Rendering with Next.js
d. Gatsby
e. React in the Future
14. Index
 Learning React
SECOND EDITION

Modern Patterns for Developing React Apps

Alex Banks and Eve Porcello

Learning React

by Alex Banks and Eve Porcello

Copyright © 2020 Alex Banks and Eve Porcello. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

Published by O’Reilly Media, Inc., 1005 Gravenstein Highway North,

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May 2017: First Edition

June 2020: Second Edition
Revision History for the Second Edition
2020-06-12: First Release

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release details.

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licenses and/or rights.

978-1-492-05172-5
[LSI]
Preface

This book is for developers who want to learn the React library while
learning the latest techniques currently emerging in the JavaScript
language. This is an exciting time to be a JavaScript developer. The
ecosystem is exploding with new tools, syntax, and best practices that
promise to solve many of our development problems. Our aim with this
book is to organize these techniques so you can get to work with React
right away. We’ll get into state management, React Router, testing, and
server rendering, so we promise not to introduce only the basics and
then throw you to the wolves.

This book does not assume any knowledge of React at all. We’ll
introduce all of React’s basics from scratch. Similarly, we won’t
assume that you’ve worked with the latest JavaScript syntax. This will
be introduced in Chapter 2 as a foundation for the rest of the chapters.

You’ll be better prepared for the contents of the book if you’re

comfortable with HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. It’s almost always best
to be comfortable with these big three before diving into a JavaScript
library.

Along the way, check out the GitHub repository. All of the examples
are there and will allow you to practice hands-on.

Conventions Used in This Book

The following typographical conventions are used in this book:

Italic
Indicates new terms, URLs, email addresses, filenames, and file
extensions.

Constant width
Used for program listings, as well as within paragraphs to refer to
program elements such as variable or function names, databases,
data types, environment variables, statements, and keywords.

Constant width bold

Shows commands or other text that should be typed literally by the
user.

TIP
This element signifies a tip or suggestion.

NOTE
This element signifies a general note.

WARNING
This element indicates a warning or caution.
Using Code Examples
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Copyright 2020 Alex Banks and Eve Porcello, 978-1-492-05172-5.”

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Acknowledgments
Our journey with React wouldn’t have started without some good old-
fashioned luck. We used YUI when we created the training materials
for the full-stack JavaScript program we taught internally at Yahoo.
Then in August 2014, development on YUI ended. We had to change
all our course files, but to what? What were we supposed to use on the
front-end now? The answer: React. We didn’t fall in love with React
immediately; it took us a couple hours to get hooked. It looked like
React could potentially change everything. We got in early and got
really lucky.

We appreciate the help of Angela Rufino and Jennifer Pollock for all
the support in developing this second edition. We also want to
acknowledge Ally MacDonald for all her editing help in the first
edition. We’re grateful to our tech reviewers, Scott Iwako, Adam
Rackis, Brian Sletten, Max Firtman, and Chetan Karande.

There’s also no way this book could have existed without Sharon
Adams and Marilyn Messineo. They conspired to purchase Alex’s first
computer, a Tandy TRS 80 Color Computer. It also wouldn’t have
made it to book form without the love, support, and encouragement of
Jim and Lorri Porcello and Mike and Sharon Adams.

We’d also like to acknowledge Coffee Connexion in Tahoe City,

California, for giving us the coffee we needed to finish this book, and
its owner, Robin, who gave us the timeless advice: “A book on
programming? Sounds boring!”
Chapter 1. Welcome to React

What makes a JavaScript library good? Is it the number of stars on

GitHub? The number of downloads on npm? Is the number of tweets
that ThoughtLeaders™ write about it on a daily basis important? How
do we pick the best tool to use to build the best thing? How do we
know it’s worth our time? How do we know it’s good?

When React was first released, there was a lot of conversation around
whether it was good, and there were many skeptics. It was new, and the
new can often be upsetting.

To respond to these critiques, Pete Hunt from the React team wrote an
article called “Why React?” that recommended that you “give it
[React] five minutes.” He wanted to encourage people to work with
React first before thinking that the team’s approach was too wild.

Yes, React is a small library that doesn’t come with everything you
might need out of the box to build your application. Give it five
minutes.

Yes, in React, you write code that looks like HTML right in your
JavaScript code. And yes, those tags require preprocessing to run in a
browser. And you’ll probably need a build tool like webpack for that.
Give it five minutes.

As React approaches a decade of use, a lot of teams decided that it’s

good because they gave it five minutes. We’re talking Uber, Twitter,
Airbnb, and Twitter—huge companies that tried React and realized that
it could help teams build better products faster. At the end of the day,
isn’t that what we’re all here for? Not for the tweets. Not for the stars.
Not for the downloads. We’re here to build cool stuff with tools that
we like to use. We’re here for the glory of shipping stuff that we’re
proud to say we built. If you like doing those types of things, you’ll
probably like working with React.

A Strong Foundation
Whether you’re brand new to React or looking to this text to learn
some of the latest features, we want this book to serve as a strong
foundation for all your future work with the library. The goal of this
book is to avoid confusion in the learning process by putting things in a
sequence: a learning roadmap.

Before digging into React, it’s important to know JavaScript. Not all of
JavaScript, not every pattern, but having a comfort with arrays, objects,
and functions before jumping into this book will be useful.

In the next chapter, we’ll look at newer JavaScript syntax to get you
acquainted with the latest JavaScript features, especially those that are
frequently used with React. Then we’ll give an introduction to
functional JavaScript so you can understand the paradigm that gave
birth to React. A nice side effect of working with React is that it can
make you a stronger JavaScript developer by promoting patterns that
are readable, reusable, and testable. Sort of like a gentle, helpful
brainwashing.
From there, we’ll cover foundational React knowledge to understand
how to build out a user interface with components. Then we’ll learn to
compose these components and add logic with props and state. We’ll
cover React Hooks, which allow us to reuse stateful logic between
components.

Once the basics are in place, we’ll build a new application that allows
users to add, edit, and delete colors. We’ll learn how Hooks and
Suspense can help us with data fetching. Throughout the construction
of that app, we’ll introduce a variety of tools from the broader React
ecosystem that are used to handle common concerns like routing,
testing, and server-side rendering.

We hope to get you up to speed with the React ecosystem faster by

approaching it this way—not just to scratch the surface, but to equip
you with the tools and skills necessary to build real-world React
applications.

React’s Past and Future

React was first created by Jordan Walke, a software engineer at
Facebook. It was incorporated into Facebook’s newsfeed in 2011 and
later on Instagram when it was acquired by Facebook in 2012. At
JSConf 2013, React was made open source, and it joined the crowded
category of UI libraries like jQuery, Angular, Dojo, Meteor, and others.
At that time, React was described as “the V in MVC.” In other words,
React components acted as the view layer or the user interface for your
JavaScript applications.
From there, community adoption started to spread. In January 2015,
Netflix announced that they were using React to power their UI
development. Later that month, React Native, a library for building
mobile applications using React, was released. Facebook also released
ReactVR, another tool that brought React to a broader range of
rendering targets. In 2015 and 2016, a huge number of popular tools
like React Router, Redux, and Mobx came on the scene to handle tasks
like routing and state management. After all, React was billed as a
library: concerned with implementing a specific set of features, not
providing a tool for every use case.

Another huge event on the timeline was the release of React Fiber in
2017. Fiber was a rewrite of React’s rendering algorithm that was sort
of magical in its execution. It was a full rewrite of React’s internals that
changed barely anything about the public API. It was a way of making
React more modern and performant without affecting its users.

More recently in 2019, we saw the release of Hooks, a new way of

adding and sharing stateful logic across components. We also saw the
release of Suspense, a way to optimize asynchronous rendering with
React.

In the future, we’ll inevitably see more change, but one of the reasons
for React’s success is the strong team that has worked on the project
over the years. The team is ambitious yet cautious, pushing forward-
thinking optimizations while constantly considering the impact any
changes to the library will send cascading through the community.

As changes are made to React and related tools, sometimes there are
breaking changes. In fact, future versions of these tools may break
some of the example code in this book. You can still follow along with
the code samples. We’ll provide exact version information in the
package.json file so that you can install these packages at the correct
version.

Beyond this book, you can stay on top of changes by following along
with the official React blog. When new versions of React are released,
the core team will write a detailed blog post and changelog about
what’s new. The blog has also been translated into an ever-expanding
list of languages, so if English isn’t your native language, you can find
localized versions of the docs on the languages page of the docs site.

Learning React: Second Edition Changes

This is the second edition of Learning React. We felt it was important
to update the book because React has evolved quite a bit over the past
few years. We intend to focus on all the current best practices that are
advocated by the React team, but we’ll also share information about
deprecated React features. There’s a lot of React code that was written
years ago using old styles that still works well and must be maintained.
In all cases, we’ll make mention of these features in a sidebar in case
you find yourself working with legacy React applications.

Working with the Files

In this section, we’ll discuss how to work with the files for this book
and how to install some useful React tools.
File Repository
The GitHub repository associated with this book provides all the code
files organized by chapter.

React Developer Tools

We’d highly recommend installing React Developer Tools to support
your work on React projects. These tools are available as a browser
extension for Chrome and Firefox and as a standalone app for use with
Safari, IE, and React Native. Once you install the dev tools, you’ll be
able to inspect the React component tree, view props and state details,
and even view which sites are currently using React in production.
These are really useful when debugging and when learning about how
React is used in other projects.

To install, head over to the GitHub repository. There, you’ll find links
to the Chrome and Firefox extensions.

Once installed, you’ll be able to see which sites are using React.
Anytime the React icon is illuminated in the browser toolbar as shown
in Figure 1-1, you’ll know that the site has React on the page.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of
Metamorphosis
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Metamorphosis

Author: Charles V. De Vet

Release date: April 9, 2016 [eBook #51713]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK METAMORPHOSIS

***
 METAMORPHOSIS

By Charles V. de Vet

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Galaxy Magazine December 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
 The man I searched for could be anybody at
all.
If I didn't find him, there'd be nobody at all.

One more city. The pattern went on. One more city to search for a
man I did not know, whose face I would not recognize. I had no
copy of either his fingerprints or encephalograph, or any other clue
to his identity.
Yet he had to be found.
At one time he had been my best friend. His name was Howard
Zealley then. He wouldn't be using the same name now.
And the "bug" in his brain would by this time have made him a
stranger.
There was only one way the job could be done: I had to make
contact—even though I might not be aware of it at the time—reveal
who I was, and hope he'd come out after me.
I rented a room in a cheap hotel. But not so cheap that it wouldn't
have a grid connection with information service.
I wrote my name big on the register: MAX CALOF. There was always
the chance that he would see it. He would remember the name.
The room was small, a standard "living-in" cubicle. Which was all
right. I didn't intend to sleep here. I hadn't slept in nine years now—
a year before the chase began. I kicked off my saddle shoes and
walked on stockinged feet to the vid coin slot and dropped in a half
dollar.
The screen flickered once and the face of a beautiful, smiling woman
came into focus. "May I help you, sir?" she asked in a pleasant, very
friendly voice.
I realized that the woman was not actually speaking, as she
appeared to be doing. She was merely a woman image, with her
voice and facial expressions synchronized in some way with the word
impulses coming from information central.

I stretched out on the bed, folding the pillow under my head to have
an unobstructed view of the screen. "Give me the names of the city's
two hundred most prominent male citizens," I said.
There was no sign of surprise on the woman face, but I got the
usual expressive long pause from central. The request was unusual.
Central relays always had trouble with the proper definition of
"prominent."
"Any particular category?" the woman image finally asked.
"All categories," I answered.
Another pause. Even a mechanical brain would take a bit of time to
assemble that information, but get it I would.
After a while the woman began. "Edward Anderson. Russell Baker.
Joseph Dillon. Francis...." As her gently modulated voice went on, I
closed my eyes, keeping my mind blank, letting each name pass
without resistance through my consciousness. Sometimes a hunch
came that way. There was no need to make a written list. I had total
recall.
I became aware that I had opened my shirt collar and that I was
perspiring. I hadn't noticed how hot the day was or that the room
had no air conditioning. I took a minute to concentrate. The
perspiration dried and my body adjusted itself to the room's
temperature and humidity. When I was comfortable again, I
returned my attention to the woman's voice.
At the end of the reading, no name had stayed with me. I opened
my eyes. "Eliminate all except those within the age range of twenty
to forty," I said. Zealley would be thirty-seven by now—but probably
appear younger. "Got that?"
"Yes sir."
"How many left?" I asked.
"Sixty-four."
It was always a temptation to cut the list further. I was weary of the
seemingly endless repetition of the same routine and the frustrating
lack of any results. Eight years is a long time to search for a man.
Yet I could not afford to be careless. I was gambling everything on
my having figured out the way Zealley's mind operated, how he
would act, where he would hide. When the woman finished
speaking, I walked to the vid and switched it off.
I noted by the wall clock that it was almost noon. I hadn't had
breakfast yet. In the back of my mind, as I ordered a meal, was the
certainty that someday this appetite too would grow sated and dull.
There were so few satisfactions left....
The first name on my list was Edward Anderson. The city's mayor. It
took me two hours to get into his office, and two minutes to be on
my way out again. I had asked my questions and met the usual
blank response.
On the street I spent another hour strolling through the shopping
district. No shadower picked me up.
Which pretty well eliminated Anderson—or anyone in close contact
with him.
Second name, Russell Baker. Industrialist. Minneapolis Mining &
Allied Products.
I got as far as his secretary, John Roesler.
"What can I do for you?" Roesler asked. He was a big-boned,
handsome man, with an air of sleepy indolence. He cleaned and
trimmed his fingernails with a small gold penknife.
"I'd like to see Mr. Baker," I said.
"What about?"
"Confidential business."
"No one gets in to see a man like Mr. Baker that easy. If they could,
he'd be pestered by every crackpot in town."
This was as far as I was going to get. I had to make the best of it.
"Will you give him a message then?" I asked.
Roesler shrugged. "If I think he should have it."
"I would advise you to deliver it," I said making my tone as
impressive as possible. "If he doesn't get it, you may be out of a
job."
His eyebrows raised slightly.
"Tell him," I said, "that Max Calof wants to see him," and spelled my
last name for him.
"And what should I say you want to see him about?" I had caught a
slight break in Roesler's composure.
"About a mutual friend—Howard Zealley," I replied. "I think he'll be
interested."
Roesler hid a yawn behind a well-manicured hand. "We'll see," he
said, and I went back out.
Twice within ten minutes I observed the same pale-faced youth
trailing me, and my pulse gave a great racing bound. This could be
it.
I stopped and studied the men's hats in a shop window. From the
side of my eye I saw the youth stop also. He leaned against a traffic
light stanchion and kicked idly at a scrap of paper on the sidewalk.
I wandered through a department store, stopping to purchase a
toothbrush and a handkerchief, and he followed, keeping always a
discreet distance behind. My last doubt was removed. I returned to
my hotel. With luck, the hunter would now become the hunted.
In my room I pulled a grip from under the bed and took out a
rubber-handled screwdriver and a pair of pliers, a pocket knife,
several lengths of copper wire, and a small instrument in a black
case about the size of my fist. Climbing on a straight-back chair, I
removed the frosted globe from the room's center light. I bared the
wires, carefully spliced on two pieces of wire, connected the black
box, and replaced the globe.
I had a little more trouble with the electrical clock's wiring, but at
the end I was satisfied. The time was two-fifteen. I made my setting
for three o'clock. Zealley should be here before then. If not, I could
always set the timing back.
There was nothing to do now except wait.
Nearly a half hour passed from the time I finished my preparations,
and I was beginning to think Zealley would be late, when the door of
my compartment was kicked savagely open.
The man who followed the kick was lean and dark, with wavy brown
hair combed meticulously into place. A bent nose dispelled any
illusion of softness.
I was disappointed. If this was Zealley, it was not at all the way I
had expected him to look. I had thought he would be more polished
perhaps, more intelligent, with more of the outward signs of
success.
This weighing I did with a fleeting glance, and passed to the two
men who followed my first visitor: Roesler and the pale-faced youth.
Roesler was wearing a yellow hat.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed where I had been lying
and sat up. "Come in," I said.
The sarcasm was not wasted on Roesler. He kept his gaze on me,
but spoke to the two men with him. "Stay by the door, George," he
ordered the boy. "You, Steve," he addressed the lean man, "get on
the other side of him. Stay close." He let himself ease into the
lounge chair behind him.
I decided to stir things up a bit. "I see you brought a boy," I said,
nodding at the one by the door. "This might turn out to be a man's
job."
Roesler glanced aside at the youth, whose lips pulled away from his
teeth and eyes filled with quick hate. He pulled a switch-blade knife
from his pocket and snapped it open.
I found myself making a swift reappraisal. The lad was not the
simple hood type I had first judged him to be. There was a flat look
about the wide whites of his eyes that warned of something apart
from courage.
"Not yet, George," Roesler said, and his voice, though almost gentle,
stopped the boy before he took a step.
Roesler pulled his penknife from a coat pocket and began trimming
his nails.
"Someday you're going to run out of fingernails," I said.
Roesler laughed soundlessly, amused.
I glanced unobtrusively at the clock. Ten minutes to three. Time
passed slowly in a situation like this.
Roesler regarded me speculatively. "You don't seem very nervous,"
he said.
"Should I be?"
"I would think so," he said. "If I were in your position, I think I'd be
nervous."
"Would you?"
"Take off your clothes," he said, with no change of tone.
I took in a long breath and began opening my shirt. Another glance
at the clock told me I needed at least eight more minutes. I had to
stall.

Roesler made no attempt to hurry me. He was a man certain of his

control of the situation.
I kicked off my shorts, the last of my clothes, and for the first time
felt ill at ease. Standing stripped to the raw before these men put
me at a mental disadvantage. I feared them only to the point of
discretion, but I had lost a bit of my poise. I sat back on the edge of
the bed and lit a cigarette, doing my best to appear unconcerned.
Roesler turned to the dark man. "The shade, Steve," he directed.
"Pull it down a minute."
Steve did as he was told.
The fact that my skin glowed with a faint phosphorescent sheen in
the semidarkness was no surprise to me.
Roesler leaned forward and the penknife, which he had set on one
knee, slipped off. Without attention he caught it before it touched
the floor.
Which confirmed my original suspicion. No one had reflexes that fast
—except Zealley—and myself. I had estimated him correctly then. He
had been too clever to expose himself to any searcher; he had
disdained the prestige he might have acquired, staying in the
background, but in a position where he could observe any pursuer if
and when he appeared.
Roesler-Zealley had noted the brief play of understanding on my face
and he nodded. "I had to be certain, Max," he said. "You've changed
too, you know."
Which was true. The mites in our veins had altered us both
considerably through the years. We had developed some small
empathy with them and they often performed as we wished. It was
not that they could read our thoughts. Their activities were probably
only reactions to our emotional and glandular functions. Moreover,
they acted as often in ways that suited their own designs, changing
our body structures, and regulating our metabolisms, seemingly at
random.
"What did you want with me, Max?" Zealley asked, still being very
pleasant. "Did you come to join me in conquering the world?"
He was being facetious and I did not answer him. He knew why I
was here.
Overhead a faint click came from the light globe, a sound that
probably only I noticed, and I knew that my alarm had gone off. I
judged it would take the police only a few minutes to reach here.
"Or are you going to pretend that the medics have found a way to
boil the bugs out of us?" Zealley asked. Did I detect a concealed
pleading for just that assurance?
I shook my head. "No, they haven't found any way, Howard," I
obliterated the hope.
"Good old Max." Bitterness crept into his voice. "Faithful, selfless old
Max. Going to save the world. Going to save the whole of humanity,"
he amended expansively.
He hadn't changed too much. Sarcasm had always come natural
with him, which made it no more likable.

He might have said dull, stupid, cloddish old Max. The words would
have better matched the tone of his voice. At that, he might be
right. The authorities back on our home world of New Nebraska had
said pretty much the same thing, only more diplomatically.
"You and Zealley are different," I'd been told. "That was one of the
reasons we made you a team, originally. Zealley is clever and
imaginative, but basically an egotist. A to-hell-with-the-other-fellow
character. Fortunately, you're not like him. You're a man who accepts
his responsibilities, a man with a strong sense of duty. We know we
can trust you." Whether it was actually trust or only that they had
little choice, I had not let myself decide.
"We had such high hopes." Zealley was reminiscing, speaking more
to himself than to me.
We had. We'd been a two-man survey crew, mapping out new
territory for the future expansion of the human race. On a world
listed only as TR768-L-14 on the star maps, we had run into disaster.
We found the planet unfit for human habitation, but not before we'd
been bitten several times by things we never did see.
No infection had resulted and we thought little about it, until we
were a good part of the way home. Gradually then we noticed a
quickening of our sensory processes, a well-being of body too
pronounced to be normal. During the next several weeks of flight,
Zealley wrote a historical novel that I was certain would turn out to
be a classic. I found myself mastering, without difficulty, higher
math, which had always been beyond me before.
At the end of the third month we stopped needing sleep. During the
days and nights that followed we conversed brilliantly on subjects
that had not interested us before, and the depth of which we
couldn't have fathomed if they had interested us. We were at a loss
to explain the reason for the change, though we knew it tied in
somehow with our stay on TR768-L-14, and probably with the things
that had bitten us. The cause was of secondary importance; the
marvel of the reality was what intrigued us. We looked forward with
poorly restrained excitement to displaying our new mental and
physical dexterity.

The Space Bureau authorities were every bit as impressed as we had

anticipated. The medics readily found that we had been infested by
a germ, but by a benevolent germ, a true symbiote. That discovery
was followed by months of tests and examinations.
Between sessions with our own medics and laboratory men and
various visiting specialists, we amused ourselves by showing our
new abilities. At least a dozen times a day I had to put someone
down in an arm wrestle. Even when they devised a way to pit two
against me at a time, I had little difficulty besting them.
Zealley's displays tended toward the more flamboyant. One of the
tricks he delighted in was taking a razor blade, and, while his
audience watched with repelled fascination, cut a long gash in his
forearm. For an instant the blood would ebb out, then quickly clot
and cease to flow. The next day he would show them the arm,
where a thin red line at the most would remain to mark where the
wound had been.
Apparently Zealley's reminiscing had kept pace with my own. "It
seems such a shame, doesn't it, Max?" he asked. He was genuinely
sad.
So was I.
Test results and theories developed fast in those early days. The
findings showed that the symbiotes repaired damage and faults in
our systems and protected us against disease. It was even hazarded
that they would prolong our lives indefinitely.
Yet we were warned against complacency. The bug—we always
spoke of it in the singular, even though we knew the original mites
had spawned in our blood streams—could not act quickly enough to
save our lives in the event of major damage to essential organs or
the brain. Also, we could drown. Or we could die in a fall from a
great height. Or starve to death.
The first intimation we had that all was not well had started as a
rumor. Two of the staff biochemists had been experimenting with
transplants of the bugs in fruit flies. They had turned up something
sensational.
Zealley was not present when I received the disastrous news. At the
end of what would normally be a twenty- or thirty-year cycle—the
chemists were not able to estimate it any closer—the symbiotes
evolved into tiny winged insects.
At that stage they acquired size and flying strength by devouring the
tissues of their hosts.
In twenty or thirty years, then, our benign cohabitants would kill us
—and spread out by the millions to infest other available animal life.
Unless they were destroyed, not only would Zealley and I die, but all
humanity on all the worlds would face the prospect of becoming
infested.
Zealley must have surmised what was coming. He had disappeared a
week earlier. Before he left, I had noticed considerable change in our
body and facial features. He would very soon be impossible to
identify.
The only lead the authorities ever got on him was that he had fled to
Earth. At that particular time Earth and New Nebraska were involved
in one of the more serious interworld bickerings. Citizens of each
were denied admittance to the other, which was probably the reason
Zealley had chosen Earth as a haven.
New Nebraska's authorities called me in and briefed me on what I
was to do. They were able to smuggle me to Earth with forged
papers that identified me as a citizen of another planet.
Zealley had to be found—and I was their one hope.
"You have some interest in that clock?" Zealley's words jarred me
out of my retrospection. Silently I cursed myself for letting my
thoughts and eyes stray. I was dismayed, too, to find that only a few
minutes had passed since I'd last looked. Even so, the police were
taking longer than I had calculated.
Zealley abandoned all pretense of joviality. "Now, George," he said
to the pale-faced youth, who still stood by the door with his knife in
his hand.
The boy started toward me and I tensed, shifting my feet to face
him. Something crashed against my right temple and only then did I
remember Steve, the man behind me.
The force of the blow knocked me sideways but not unconscious. I
started to turn and a second glancing blow split the skin across my
forehead. I slid off the bed on the side away from him.
I retained just enough control of my faculties to get to my feet as
the youth reached me and to grab him in a bear hug, but not fast
enough to keep the long blade of his knife from ripping into my
stomach.
The symbiote, though able to repair damage, was not able to block
pain. The bite of the knife clenched my muscles in a spasm of agony,
and dimly I heard the youth give a grunt of distress as my arms
squeezed and bent him back at the waist.
Something landed on my foot—his knife. With blackness closing in,
my arms lost their strength and I slid down his body.
I blanked out, but only for an instant. The kid had fallen with me
and my hands clutched his ankles as I fought to stay conscious. I
stood up, still holding his ankles. Putting everything I had into the
effort, I swung him around and sent him crashing into Steve, who
was just rounding the foot of the bed. They went down together.
I gasped in air, clutching the gash in my stomach with hands that
were sticky and wet with blood. I turned toward Zealley. He was still
seated in his chair, still smiling. One hand, resting negligently in his
lap, held a snub-nosed pistol.
He could have killed me any time before this, but he had wanted the
fun of watching me fight for my life. He opened his mouth to say
something but closed it abruptly as someone pounded at the door.
"Come in!" I shouted through the froth in my mouth.
"Damn you," Zealley said softly. He wiped the pistol on his trousers
and slid it across the floor away from him.
The door burst inward.
"These men tried to kill me," I told the two police officers.

Zealley's bland features simulated surprise. "I?" he asked. "I heard

noise in here as I was passing in the hall. I came in to see what the
trouble was."
"He's lying," I said as the policemen turned inquiringly toward me.
"He's with them."
Zealley shook his head sadly. "He must be delirious—" he began, but
the evidence was all on my side.
"Shut up!" one of the officers said, grabbing him by the shirt front
and jerking him to his feet.
I had started dressing immediately. I wanted to hide the wound in
my stomach. It burned, but I kept my face blank.
Zealley was silent now. If I had been just superficially wounded, his
bluff would have worked—I'd have healed right there and then. I
hadn't, so he had to wait for developments. I hoped I could give him
some.
While one of the officers worked to revive the youth—the thug
named Steve was already on his feet—I went to the bowl in the
alcove and washed the blood off my hands and stomach.
They had the kid upright when I turned around: "Are you hurt bad?"
the policeman holding Zealley asked me.
"Not too bad." I managed to keep my voice steady. "I'll be all right
until you can send an ambulance."
He stood uncertainly for a moment. "I don't like to leave you alone,
but I can put in a call from our cruiser. The ambulance should get
here within ten minutes."
"I'll be OK," I said.
The sound of the closing door was the only way I had to know they
were gone. For the past half minute, my tight grip on the bed
headboard was all that held me erect. Now the starch went out of
my body and I crumpled to the floor.
This time I did not blank out, but lay twisted and tight, waiting for
the pain to stop—or to kill me.
A small easing of the torment came and I forced myself to relax. I
was able now to steel my mind against the racking spasms and pull
myself to my feet. I was not at all safe yet; even if I was not
mortally wounded, it would take the symbiote hours to repair the
damage.
I managed to pull on my clothes with numbed, awkward fingers and
get out of the room before the ambulance arrived. I took with me
only my grip. I would still need that.
There was small chance that the police could hold Zealley. He would
probably be free on bail this same afternoon.
The odds were against me. I was fighting in Zealley's own back yard,
wounded and entirely alone, while he must have been prepared for
this contingency for years. But I had succeeded in the first part of
my plan. I had found out who he was, and I had put him in a
position where he could not use his superior resources, for a time at
least. Now I had to get to him before he was able to mobilize those
resources.

In the street, I had a violent attack of cramps in my upper

diaphragm, and I got down on one knee and made a pretense of
adjusting a shoe strap as I fought the torment. Perspiration gathered
in clammy globules all over my body. When the pain left, I rose and
pushed grimly on.
Opposite Minneapolis Mining's main offices, and a quarter of a block
down, I found the type of commercial building I was looking for, and
went in and sought out the building superintendent.
"Do you have an office for rent on one of the lower floors?" I asked
him. "One that faces the front street?"
"We have several," he answered with professional courtesy. He
thumbed through a row of cards and pulled out one with a small
brown envelope attached. "Here's a fine office on the sixth floor. It's
only one room, but—"
"I'll take a look at it," I interrupted him.
"Of course." He tore open the small envelope and took out a brass
key. "I'll take you up."
"I'd rather go alone."
As he hesitated, I took out my billfold and separated a hundred-
dollar bill from two others of its kind and laid it on his desk. "I'll
leave a deposit—in case I should like it," I said, taking the key from
his hand.
"I suppose it will be all right," he murmured doubtfully.
"Thank you," I called back over my shoulder. "I may be a while. I
want to look it over carefully." I ignored the fact that he seemed to
have more he wanted to say.
The office was small, but that made little difference to me. There
was a clear view of the street from the window. That was all I cared
about.
In one corner was a small packing case, left by the former tenant. I
dragged it over by the window and sat down. From my grip I took a
rifle barrel and stock and assembled them, and filled the magazine
with ammunition. I kept part of my attention on the building down
the street while I worked.
I hoped I had guessed right—that Zealley would get free of the
police, and that he would return to his office.
The day-shift workers had begun to pour from the Mining building
before a taxi drew up to the curb and a man in a yellow hat alighted.
Zealley had come.
He was alone. I aligned the sights of my rifle on his head, waited
until I had a clear shot, and squeezed the trigger.
The yellow hat sprang upward and Zealley sank from sight among
the hurrying workers.
The job was done.

Finding a way back to New Nebraska took me a year, for I no longer

fitted my passport picture and description at all.
"Except for the danger to others," I said when I reported in, "I
wouldn't have bothered coming back."
"A good thing for you that you did bother to come back here," I was
told.
The biochemists had gone on with their work through the years I'd
searched for Zealley. They had learned that the symbiotes' life cycle
developed in three distinct stages: five years of propagation, fifteen
years in the dormant aging process, an undetermined number of
years in the final form.
If the blood of a carrier was replaced any time during the first five
years, the bugs in the residual blood in the body began to propagate
again, delaying the aging process another five years.
"In other words," I was told, "we can control the symbiote. Mankind
can reap the benefits—with not a single one of the dangers."
Except poor Zealley, I thought pityingly, but wonderingly. The hogs,
the smart boys who have every angle figured in getting the jump on
everybody else—how is it they never figure the last angle?
He should have waited instead of grabbing.
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