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Jonathon Simpson

How JavaScript Works

Master the Basics of JavaScript and Modern
Web App Development
Jonathon Simpson
Belfast, Antrim, UK

ISBN 978-1-4842-9737-7 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-9738-4

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-9738-4

© Jonathon Simpson 2023

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively
licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is
concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in
any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or
dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.

The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks,

service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the
absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the
relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general
use.

The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

This Apress imprint is published by the registered company APress

Media, LLC, part of Springer Nature.
The registered company address is: 1 New York Plaza, New York, NY
10004, U.S.A.
Introduction
JavaScript is one of the most used programming languages in the world.
When JavaScript was first created, it was a useful tool for adding
interactivity to web pages. Since then, it has evolved to power back-end
servers, massive front-end web applications, and even iPhone and
Android applications via tools like Electron and Tauri.
While JavaScript has matured as a language its complexity seems to
have increased. What started as simple scripts inside HTML tags now
seems to involve compile steps via TypeScript and frameworks like
React, Vue.js, or Svelte. For those getting started in JavaScript, it can be
overwhelming, even though these tools are just an additional level of
abstraction which ultimately compiles down into vanilla JavaScript.
In this book, we’ll learn how JavaScript works from the bottom up,
which will prepare you for everything web development and JavaScript-
led app development can throw at you. We’ll also explain some of the
quirks you’ll find in JavaScript and how many of them have come to be
due to JavaScript’s long and varied history.
After that, we’ll cover JavaScript’s unique approach to inheritance
before moving into more complicated topics like memory management,
classes, APIs, and web workers. We’ll explore how the weakly typed
system JavaScript employs has both benefits and downsides.
As a fundamental part of the web stack, and with more people using
it every day, there has never been a better time to learn JavaScript. This
book will guide you through everything you need to know, so that you
can master modern web app development.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​Introduction to JavaScript
JavaScript Fundamentals
JavaScript’s Type Classification
What Is JavaScript Used For?​
Writing JavaScript
Summary
Chapter 2:​Code Structure and Logical Statements
Getting Started
Common Code Conventions
Semicolons
Spacing
Variable and Function Naming
JavaScript Variables
Setting Variables with let
Setting Variables with var
Setting Variables with const
Defining Variables Without Values
Assignment Operators
Variable Concatenation
JavaScript Comments
Logical Statements
If…else Statements
Switch Statements
Block Scoping with Logical Statements
Conditional Operator in Variables
 Logical Statement Comparison Operators
Logical Statement Logical Operators
Summary
Chapter 3:​Introduction to Objects, Arrays
Arrays
Getting the Length of an Array
Getting the Last Element of an Array
Array Manipulation Methods
Push and Unshift
Pop and Shift
Splice
Objects
Accessing Object Data
Object Mutability
Spread Syntax or the “Three Dots”
Prototype-Based Programming
Prototypical Inheritance
[[Prototype]] vs.​prototype (and _​_​proto_​_​)
Object Shallow and Deep Copies
Summary
Chapter 4:​Loops and Iterables
Loops
Break and Continue in Loops
Loop Labels
Iteration
Iterables and For Loops
 Array forEach methods
String Iteration
Iteration Protocol
Objects Are Not Iterable by Default
Summary
Chapter 5:​References, Values, and Memory Management
Introduction
Stacks
The Event Loop
The Heap
Object and Reference Equality
Summary
Chapter 6:​Functions and Classes
Introduction to Functions
Running Arguments with the “Three Dots”
Alternative Ways to Call Functions
Unnamed Function Expressions
Anonymous Functions
Functions with Arrow Notation
Functions and the “this” Keyword
Sloppy Mode
Arrow Notation Functionality with this
Calling Functions with Context
Constructor Functions in JavaScript
Additional Function Methods
Getters and Setters
 Generator Functions
Classes
Classes and Constructor Functions
Class Methods
Class Method Types
Class Inheritance via Extends
Summary
Chapter 7:​Types
Primitive Types
Primitive Wrappers
Using Wrappers to Create Types
The Number Type and NaN
Number Type Mathematics
Mathematical Methods
The Date Type
The Symbol Type
Truthy and Falsy Types
Truthy and Falsy Operators
Logical AND Operator
Logical OR Operator
Nullish Coalescing
Optionality
Summary
Chapter 8:​Manipulating and Interacting with HTML
Window and Document Objects
The Window Object
 The Document Object Model
Selecting HTML Elements
The Order of HTML
NodeLists and HTMLCollections
Manipulating HTML After Selection
Adding Events to HTML Elements
Creating a Modal Window
Creating a Counter
Event Types
Drag and Drop
The e variable
Creating New Elements with JavaScript
Manipulating CSS with JavaScript
HTMLElements and Changing Styles in JavaScript
Adding New Style Sheets to HTML Pages
Setting CSS Variables
Getting CSS Properties and HTML Dimensions
Summary
Chapter 9:​Maps and Sets
Sets
Modifying Sets
Checking Set Membership
Checking Set Size
Merging Sets
Set Iteration and Values
Maps
 Retrieving Map Properties
Checking for Key Existence on a Map
Telling How Big a Javascript Map Is
Iterating, Merging, and Accessing Maps
Keys and Values in Maps
Serialization of Maps in JavaScript
Summary
Chapter 10:​Fetching Data, APIs, and Promises
What Are APIs?​
Understanding HTTP
RESTful Design
Understanding APIs Through a Node.​JS Web Server
Testing Endpoints with Postman
The Benefits of APIs
Sending Data to APIs with JSON
The fetch Function
A Deep Dive into Fetch Options
Asynchronicity and Promises
Promise Methods:​then, finally, and catch
The await Keyword
Useful Promise Methods
Summary
Chapter 11:​Introduction to Web APIs
Web APIs
Frequently Used Web APIs
URL API
 Web Storage API
Web Notifications API
History API
Summary
Chapter 12:​Errors and the Console
The Console Object
Console Errors, Debugs, Warnings, and Info
Console Timing
Console Counting
Other Useful Console Methods
Console Grouping
Console Tables
Errors and Exceptions
try…catch
Generating Errors
Handling Specific Errors
Summary
Chapter 13:​The Canvas
Introduction
Drawing and Images
Drawing Rectangles
Drawing Circles
Drawing Triangles
Drawing Images
Drawing Text
Interactivity and Creating a Drawing Application
 Animations
Summary
Chapter 14:​Web Workers and Multithreading
Introduction
Using Web Workers
Sending Messages to and from Web Workers
Restrictions on Web Workers
Conclusion
Index
About the Author
Jonathon Simpson
studied at UCL and currently works in product development at Revolut,
a global neobank and financial technology company that offers banking
services. He has over 15 years of web development experience working
on a wide range of products and services. Jonathon also owns and
operates a popular software engineering blog focusing on JavaScript
and web development.
About the Technical Reviewer
Russ Ferguson
is a web application developer living in Brooklyn, New York. He has
worked on projects for organizations such as Ann Taylor, MTV, DC
Comics, and LG. Currently, he is the Vice President at Bank of America
managing a team of Angular developers, building internal applications.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of D-99: a
science-fiction novel
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: D-99: a science-fiction novel

Author: H. B. Fyfe

Release date: April 26, 2016 [eBook #51866]

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 D-99: A SCIENCE-

FICTION NOVEL ***
 D-99

a science-fiction novel by

H. B. FYFE

PYRAMID BOOKS
NEW YORK

D-99

A Pyramid Book

First Printing, November 1962

This book is fiction. No resemblance is intended

between any character herein and any person, living
or dead; any such resemblance is purely coincidental.
 Copyright, 1962 by Pyramid Publications, Inc.
All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America

Pyramid Books are published by Pyramid Publications, Inc.,

444 Madison Avenue, New York 22, New York, U.S.A.

[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any

evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
renewed.]
 ROCKETS SLAMMED PAST
—just missing the tall, gaunt man who dodged down the stairs of
the Earth Embassy. A figure loomed in a doorway and he snapped
off a quick blaster shot at it—missed.
He'd killed one man, wounded others—and was carrying papers
stolen from the secret Embassy files. They had to stop him—but
they couldn't!
—And, worlds away, the men of Department 99 watched on their
galaxy-spanning view-screen ... knowing they were responsible for
this disaster—and powerless to do anything about it!

CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
 ONE
At the ninety-fifth floor, Westervelt left the public elevator for a
private automatic one which he took four floors further. When he
stepped out, the dark, lean youth faced an office entrance whose
double, transparent doors bore the discreet legend: "Department
99."
He crossed the hall and entered. Waving at the little blonde in the
switchboard cubby to the right of the doorway, he continued a few
steps into the office beyond. Two secretaries looked up from the row
of desks facing him, a third place being unoccupied. Behind them,
long windows filtered the late afternoon light to a mellow tint.
"Did you get it all right, Willie?" asked the dark girl to his left. "Mr.
Smith wants you to take it right in. He expected you earlier."
"My flight from London was late; I did the best I could after we
landed," said Westervelt. "It took me the whole day to fetch this
gadget. At least let me get my coat off!"
He moved to his right, to a modest desk in an alcove formed by the
end of the office and the high partition that enclosed the
switchboard.
"How do you find yourself inside that?" asked the other secretary, a
golden haired girl with a lazy smile. "Talk about women's clothes!
The men are wearing topcoats like tents this year."
Westervelt felt himself flushing, to his disgust. He struggled out of
the coat, removed an oblong package and a large envelope from
inner pockets, and tossed the coat on his desk.
It had hardly settled before the door at the opposite end of the
office, beyond the dark girl, was flung open. From the next room
lumbered a man who looked even lankier than Westervelt because
he was an inch or two over six feet tall. His broad forehead was
grooved by a scowl of concentration that brought heavy eyebrows
nearly together over a high-bridged nose. His chin seemed longer for
his chewing nervously upon his lower lip. He was in shirtsleeves and
badly needed a haircut.
"I'm going down to the com room, Miss Diorio," he told the brunette.
"There's another weird report coming in!"
He vanished into the hall with a clatter.
His secretary looked at Westervelt, a smile tugging at the corners of
her full lips. She threw up her hands with a little flip.
"I told you to take it right in," she reminded him.
"Aw, come on, Si! What if I'd been in the doorway when he came
through?"
"What is it, anyway?" asked the other girl.
Westervelt looked around as she rose. Beryl Austin, he thought,
would be a knockout if only there were less of a hint of ice about
her. She was, in her high heels, only an inch shorter than he. Her
face was round, but with a delicate bone structure that lent it an odd
beauty. Westervelt was privately of the opinion that she spoiled the
effect by wearing her hair in a style too short and too precisely
arranged. And too bleached, he told himself.
The talk was that before coming to the Department, she had won
two or three minor beauty contests. That might explain the
meticulous make-up and the smart blue dress that followed the
curves of her figure so flatteringly. Westervelt suspected, from hints
dropped by Simonetta Diorio, that this was insufficient qualification
for being a secretary, even in such a peculiar institution as
Department 99. Of course, maybe Smith had ideas of making her a
field agent.
He held out the package in the palm of his hand.
"They said at the London lab that it was a special flashlight that
would pass for an ordinary one."
"Oh, the one for that Antares case," exclaimed Beryl. "Si was telling
me how they'll send out plans of that. Did they show you how it
works?"
"It gives just a dim beam until you press an extra switch," said
Westervelt. "Then it puts out a series of dashes bright enough to
hurt your eyes."
"What in the world do they want that for?" asked Beryl.
"What in some other world, you mean! On some of these planets,
the native life is so used to a dim red sun that a flash like this on
their sensitive eyes can knock them unconscious."
"This place is just full of dirty tricks like that," said the blonde. "Why
can't they free these people some other way?"
Westervelt and Simonetta looked at each other. Beryl had been in
the Department only a few weeks, and did not yet seem to have
heard the word.
Or understood it, maybe, thought Westervelt. She might not look
half so intelligent without that nice chest expansion.
"Some of them just get in trouble," Simonetta was saying. "The laws
of alien peoples we've been meeting around the galaxy don't
necessarily make sense to Terrans."
"But why can't they stay away from such queer places?"
"What would you do," asked Westervelt, "if you were in a spaceship
that blew up near a strange planetary system, and you took an
emergency rocket to land on the best looking planet, and the local
bems arrested you because they have a law against anyone passing
through their system without special permission?"
"But how can they make a law like that?" demanded Beryl.
"Who says they can't? They had a war with beings from the star
nearest them; and wound up suspicious of every kind of spaceship.
We have a case like that now."
"They've been working on it two months," Simonetta confirmed.
"Those poor men were jailed over a month before anybody even
heard about them."
Beryl shrugged and turned back to her desk. Westervelt watched her
walk, thinking that the rear elevation was good too, until it occurred
to him that Simonetta might be taking in his expression. The blonde
settled herself and leaned back to stretch. He was willing to bet ten
credits that she did it just to get his goat.
"Well, the work is interesting," Beryl admitted, "but I don't see why
it can't be done by the Department of Interstellar Relations. The
D.I.R. has trained diplomats and knows all about dealing with
aliens."
"Come on, now, dear!" said Simonetta. "Where do you think your
paycheck originates? Publicly, the D.I.R. doesn't like to admit that we
exist. To hide the connection, they named us after the floor we're on
in this building, and hoped that nobody would notice us."
"I knew I was getting into something crooked!" exclaimed Beryl.
"It depends," said Westervelt. "Suppose some Terran spacer is slung
into jail out there somewhere, for something that would never be a
crime in the Solar System. The D.I.R. protests, and the bems simply
deny they have him. How far can diplomacy go? We try getting him
out some other way."
He held up the "flashlight."
"Now they'll stellarfax plans of this out to Antares to our field agents.
After one is made and smuggled in to our case, all they have to do is
run in a fast ship to pick him up when he breaks out."
"Speaking of that gadget," Simonetta suggested, "why don't you
take it down to Mr. Smith? He must be waiting out the message in
the com room."
Westervelt agreed. He took the package and the envelope of
blueprints, and walked into the hall. He turned first to his right,
along the base of the U-shaped corridor, then to his left after passing
the door to the fire stairs at the inner corner and the private
entrance to Smith's office opposite it.
The walls were covered by a gray plastic that was softly monotonous
in the light of the luminous ceiling. The floor, nearly black, was of a
springy composition that deadened the sound of footfalls.
Along the wing of the "U" into which he turned, Westervelt passed
doors to the department's reference library and to a conference
room on his right, and portal marked "Shaft" on his left. Beyond the
latter was a section of blank wall behind which, he knew, was a
special shaft for the power conduits that supplied the department's
own communications instruments.
The place was a self-sufficient unit, he reflected. It had its own TV
equipment and a sub-space radio for reaching far-out spaceships,
although most routine traffic was boosted through relay stations on
the outer planets of the Solar System.
Some lines of communication with the field agents were tenuous,
but messages usually got through. If the lines broke down, someone
would be sent to search the confidential files for a roundabout
connection.
I wonder how many of us would wind up in court if those files
became public knowledge? thought Westervelt. I'd like to see them
trying to handle Smitty! Nobody here can figure him out all the time,
and we're at least half as nutty as he is.
Down beside the communications room, though normally reached by
the other wing of the corridor that enclosed the core of elevators,
shafts and rest rooms, the department even had a confidential
laboratory. Actually, this was more in the nature of a stock room for
peculiar gadgets and implements used for the fell purposes of the
organization. Westervelt did not like to wander about in there, for
fear of setting something off. It was more or less the domain of the
one man in the department whom he knew to have been in an alien
prison.
Robert Lydman was an ex-spacer who had joined the group after
having been rescued from just such an incarceration as he now
specialized in cracking. Westervelt had been told that the sojourn
among the stars had left Lydman a trifle strange, which was
probably why they no longer used him as a field agent.
He came to the blank end of the corridor, the last door on the right
being that of the communications room. He opened it and stuck his
head inside.
The room was dimmer than the corridor. The operators, who
sometimes had to contend with much-relayed faint images on their
screens, liked it that way. They kept the window filters adjusted so
that it might as well be night outside. Here and there, small lights
glowed at various radio receivers or tape recording instruments, and
there was a pervading background rustle of static blended with quiet
whistles and mutterings.
At the moment, the operator on duty was Charlie Colborn, a quiet
redhead who kept a locker full of electronic gadgets for tinkering
during slow periods. Smith sat near him in a straight-backed chair,
watching the screen before Colborn.
A message was coming in from the Pluto relay—Westervelt
recognized the distant operator who spoke briefly to Colborn before
putting the message through. The next face, blurry from repeated
boosting of the image, was that of a stranger.
"This is Johnson, on Trident," the man said. "Capella IV tells me they
gave you the facts about Harris. That right?"
Smith hitched himself closer, so the transmitter lens could pick him
up. Westervelt tip-toed inside and found himself a stool.
"We just got the outlines," Smith said. "You say this spacer is being
held by the natives, and they won't let you communicate with him.
Have you reported to the D.I.R.?"
The distance and the relaying caused a few seconds of lag, even
with the ultra-modern sub-space equipment.
"I am the D.I.R.," said the face on the screen, after a bitter pause.
"Along with several other jobs, commercial and official. There are
only a few of us Terrans at this post, you know. The natives won't
even admit they have him."
"Then how can you be sure they do? And why can't you get to him
somehow?"
"We know because he managed to get a message out—we think."
Johnson frowned doubtfully. "That is, he did if we can believe the ...
ah ... messenger. We made inquiries of the natives, but it is
impossible to make much of an investigation because their
civilization is an underwater one."
Smith noticed Westervelt.
"Willie," he whispered hastily, "get on the phone and have one of the
girls stop in the library and fetch me the volume of the Galatlas with
Trident in it."
Westervelt dropped his package on a table and punched Beryl's
number on the nearest phone. Meanwhile, with its weird pauses, the
interstellar talk continued.
The missing Terran, Harris by name, had insisted against all advice
at the outpost on one of the watery planet's few islands, upon
conducting submarine exploration in a converted space scout. Since
ninety-five percent of the surface of Trident was ocean, Johnson had
only a vague idea of where Harris had gone. The point was that the
explorer had been too long out of touch. The natives, a sea people
of crustacean evolution, who were to be found over most of the
ocean bottom, and who had a considerable culture with permanent
cities and jet-propelled submarine vehicles, admitted to having heard
of Harris but denied knowledge of his whereabouts.
"So we reported to the D.I.R. sector headquarters," Johnson
concluded. "They sent an expert to coax the Tridentian officials into
visiting the shallows for a conference, but nothing came of it. Then
we called in one of your field agents and he referred us to you."
Beryl entered the room quietly, bearing a large book. Westervelt held
out his hand for it, but she seemed not to see him until he rose to
offer her the stool. When he turned his attention back to the screen,
Smith was probing for information which the distant Johnson
sounded reluctant to give.
"But if they deny everything, how do you know he's not dead
instead of being held in one of their cities? Why do you think he's
being made a sort of exhibit?"
Johnson hemmed and hawed, but finally confessed.
Besides the crustaceans, who were about man-sized and "civilized,"
there was another form of intelligent—or at least semi-intelligent—
life on Trident. Certain large, fish-like inhabitants of the planet's seas
had been contacted more than once to deliver messages to the
exploring members of the outpost. This was always promptly
accomplished by having one of the "fish" contact another of the
same species who was in the right location.
"What did you say?" demanded Smith. "Telepathic? A telepathic fish?
Oh, no! Don't ask us to—Well, what I mean is ... well, how do you
know they're reliable?"
More in the same vein followed. Westervelt stopped listening when
he realized that Smith was being convinced, willing or not. Stranger
things were on record in the immensity of the known galaxy, but
Smith took the attitude that they were all a plot against Department
99. Westervelt pried the book from Beryl's grasp and turned over
pages to the article on the planet Trident.
He skimmed the opening, which dealt with galactic co-ordinates and
the type of star at the center of the system, and did the same with
the general description of the surface and what was known of the
life forms there. The history since discovery was laconically brief.
Here it is, he told himself. A species of life resembling a Terran fish
in general configuration, about twenty feet in length and suspected
of having some undetermined sense whereby individuals can locate
each other at great distances. Well, by the time it's in print, it's
outdated.
Someone turned on a brighter light, and he realized the interstellar
talk was at an end. Smith looked around. He held out his hand for
the book, seeming to take for granted that someone should have
found the page.
"I don't see how we're going to reach this one," he grunted,
plopping the volume down on the table to scan the article.
Colborn snatched at a small piece of apparatus he had evidently
been assembling. Only Beryl was impressed; the others knew that
Smith said this of every new case.
"Tell Mr. Lydman and Mr. Parrish I want a conference," the
department head requested. "We'll use the room next door."
Beryl and Westervelt left Colborn examining his gadget suspiciously
and retraced their steps up the corridor. At the door to the main
office, the blonde left him, presumably to go through to the corner
office occupied by Parrish, whose secretary she was. Westervelt
dwelt on the thought of sending her on the way with a small pat, but
forced himself to continue up the other wing of the "U."
He passed two doors on his left: another conference room and a
spare office used mainly for old files. Doors to his right led to
washrooms. This end of the hall was not blank as on the other side;
it had a door labeled "Laboratory—No Admittance." The last door to
the left, corresponding to the location of the communications room,
led to Lydman's office.
Westervelt knocked, waited for the sound of a voice inside, and
walked in. For a moment, he saw no one, then pivoted to his right as
he remembered that Lydman kept his desk on the inner wall, around
the short corner behind the door. Everyone else who had a corner
office sat out by the windows.
He found himself facing a heavy man whose bleached crewcut and
tanned features bespoke much time spent outdoors. Very beautiful
eyes of a dark gray-blue regarded him steadily until Westervelt felt a
panicky urge to run.
Instead, he cleared his throat and gave Smith's message. Lydman
always had the same effect upon him for the first few minutes,
although he seemed to like Westervelt better than anyone else at
the office, even to the point of inviting him home for weekends of
swimming.
I always get the feeling that he looks right through me and back
again, thought Westervelt, but I can't see an inch into him!
 TWO
Castor P. Smith sat at the head of a steel and plastic table in the
conference room, whistling thoughtfully as he waited for his
assistants. Next door in the communications room, the tortured tune
his lips emitted would have been treated as deliberate jamming.
Simonetta Diorio entered carrying a recorder, and he roused himself
for a smile of appreciation.
"You won't forget to turn it on when you start, Mr. Smith?" she
pleaded.
"I'll keep my finger on the switch until then," he grinned. "Thanks,
Si."
Left alone again, he told himself he would have to do something
about the reputation he was acquiring—quite without foundation, he
believed—for being absent minded. After all, he was hardly likely to
forget to record a conference when it had been his own idea. So
many ideas were tossed around on a good day that some were
bound to be lost, unless they were down on tape. Even a good steno
like Simonetta could not guarantee to keep up with it all when two
or three got to talking at once.
Generally, he admitted to himself, he erased the tape without the
necessity of filing some brilliant solution. Still, the one in a thousand
that did turn up made the precaution worthwhile.
He stared morosely at the volume of the Galatlas he had brought
from the communications room. Sometimes, in this job, he lost his
sense of galactic direction. Calls were likely to come in from stars of
which he had never heard.
Wish I could get a little more help from the D.I.R., he thought. It's
more than having one secretary on vacation just now; we're always
short-handed. They never brought us up to strength since old