{"product_id":"foundation-isbn-9780553293357","title":"Foundation","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe first novel in Isaac Asimov’s classic science-fiction masterpiece, the Foundation series\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTHE EPIC SAGA THAT INSPIRED THE APPLE TV+ SERIES \u003ci\u003eFOUNDATION\u003c\/i\u003e • Nominated as one of America’s best-loved novels by PBS’s \u003ci\u003eThe Great American Read\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eFor twelve thousand years the Galactic Empire has ruled supreme. Now it is dying. But only Hari Seldon, creator of the revolutionary science of psychohistory, can see into the future—to a dark age of ignorance, barbarism, and warfare that will last thirty thousand years. To preserve knowledge and save humankind, Seldon gathers the best minds in the Empire—both scientists and scholars—and brings them to a bleak planet at the edge of the galaxy to serve as a beacon of hope for future generations. He calls his sanctuary the Foundation. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe Foundation novels of Isaac Asimov are among the most influential in the history of science fiction, celebrated for their unique blend of breathtaking action, daring ideas, and extensive worldbuilding. In \u003ci\u003eFoundation,\u003c\/i\u003e Asimov has written a timely and timeless novel of the best—and worst—that lies in humanity, and the power of even a few courageous souls to shine a light in a universe of darkness.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Isaac Asimov and his Foundation series\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A true polymath, a superb rationalist, an exciting and accessible writer in both fiction and nonfiction, Isaac Asimov was simply a master of all he surveyed.”\u003cb\u003e—Greg Bear\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Asimov served wondrous meals-of-the-mind to a civilization that was starved for clear thinking about the future. To this day, his visions spice our ongoing dinner-table conversation about human destiny.”\u003cb\u003e—David Brin\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Isaac was still in his teens when I met him, a fan of mine before I was a fan of his. Writing for John W. Campbell back in the famous ‘golden age of science fiction,’ he became one of the founders of our field. With the Robot stories and the Foundation stories, he helped to shape science fiction as we know it.”\u003cb\u003e—Jack Williamson\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I grew up on the ABC’s of science fiction—Asimov, Bradbury, Clarke. There’s a reason Asimov’s name comes first, and not just because of the alphabet!”\u003cb\u003e—Janis Ian\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “With his fertile imagination, his wit, and his prolific output, Isaac Asimov truly laid the foundation for all future generations of science fiction writers.”\u003cb\u003e—Kevin J. Anderson\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “If anything can be said to have been the launch pad for space-age science fiction, it has to be the Foundation trilogy. It’s a classic. And it’s unforgettable.”\u003cb\u003e—Jack McDevitt\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The Foundation series is one of the masterpieces of science fiction. If you’ve never read these novels, then you’re in for a treat, and even if you’ve already read them, then you owe it to yourself to reread them, because they’re still great.”\u003cb\u003e—Allen Steele\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Quite simply, Asimov got me started.”\u003cb\u003e—Liz Williams\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Asimov’s Foundation trilogy was the pivotal touchstone of my life in creative fiction. His vision and scope spanned the galaxy across eons, and at the same time he told deeply personal stories of living characters. The writer I am sprang from the boy that these books touched back then. They continue to move me still. Thank you, Isaac, for opening my mind and my life to the possible.”\u003cb\u003e—Tracy Hickman\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I’m sure there will be more Foundation stories, and more robot stories, and more science-fictional mysteries, because those are Isaac’s legacies to us. But reading them won’t be quite the same. There was only one Isaac Asimov; there will never be another.”\u003cb\u003e—Mike Resnick\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eIsaac Asimov\u003c\/b\u003e began his Foundation series at the age of twenty-one, not realizing that it would one day be considered a cornerstone of science fiction. During his legendary career, Asimov penned more than 470 books on subjects ranging from science to Shakespeare to history, though he was most loved for his award-winning science fiction sagas, which include the Robot, Empire, and Foundation series. Named a Grand Master of Science Fiction by the Science Fiction Writers of America, Asimov entertained and educated readers of all ages for close to five decades. He died, at the age of seventy-two, in April 1992.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His name was Gaal Dornick and he was just a country boy who had never seen   Trantor before. That is, not in real life. He had seen it many times on the hyper-video,   and occasionally in tremendous three-dimensional newscasts covering an Imperial Coronation   or the opening of a Galactic Council. Even though he had lived all his life on the   world of Synnax, which circled a star at the edges of the Blue Drift, he was not   cut off from civilization, you see. At that time, no place in the Galaxy was.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There were nearly twenty-five million inhabited planets in the Galaxy then, and   not one but owed allegiance to the Empire whose seat was on Trantor. It was the last   half-century in which that could be said.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To Gaal, this trip was the undoubted   climax of his young, scholarly life. He had been in space before so that the trip,   as a voyage and nothing more, meant little to him. To be sure, he had traveled previously   only as far as Synnax's only satellite in order to get the data on the mechanics   of meteor driftage which he needed for his dissertation, but space-travel was all   one whether one travelled half a million miles, or as many light years.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He had   steeled himself just a little for the Jump through hyper-space, a phenomenon one   did not experience in simple interplanetary trips. The Jump remained, and would probably   remain forever, the only practical method of travelling between the stars. Travel   through ordinary space could proceed at no rate more rapid than that of ordinary   light (a bit of scientific knowledge that belonged among the items known since the   forgotten dawn of human history), and that would have meant years of travel between   even the nearest of inhabited systems. Through hyper-space, that unimaginable region   that was neither space nor time, matter nor energy, something nor nothing, one could   traverse the length of the Galaxy in the interval between two neighboring instants   of time.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal had waited for the first of those jumps with a little dread curled   gently in his stomach, and it ended in nothing more than a trifling jar, a little   internal kick which ceased an instant before he could be sure he had felt it. That   was all.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And after that, there was only the ship, large and glistening; the cool   production of 12,000 years of Imperial progress; and himself, with his doctorate   in mathematics freshly obtained and an invitation from the great Hari Seldon to come   to Trantor and join the vast and somewhat mysterious Seldon Project.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What Gaal   was waiting for after the disappointment of the Jump was that first sight of Trantor.   He haunted the View-room. The steel shutter-lids were rolled back at announced times   and he was always there, watching the hard brilliance of the stars, enjoying the   incredible hazy swarm of a star cluster, like a giant conglomeration of fireflies   caught in mid-motion and stilled forever. At one time there was the cold, blue-white   smoke of a gaseous nebula within five light years of the ship, spreading over the   window like distant milk, filling the room with an icy tinge, and disappearing out   of sight two hours later, after another Jump.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first sight of Trantor's sun   was that of a hard, white speck all but lost in a myriad such, and recognizable only   because it was pointed out by the ship's guide. The stars were thick here near the   Galactic center. But with each Jump, it shone more brightly, drowning out the rest,   paling them and thinning them out.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e An officer came through and said, \"View-room   will be closed for the remainder of the trip. Prepare for landing.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal had   followed after, clutching at the sleeve of the white uniform with the Spaceship-and-Sun   of the Empire on it.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He said, \"Would it be possible to let me stay? I would like   to see Trantor.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The officer smiled and Gaal flushed a bit. It occurred to him   that he spoke with a provincial accent.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The officer said, \"We'll be landing on   Trantor by morning.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I mean I want to see it from Space.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oh. Sorry, my   boy. If this were a space-yacht we might manage it. But we're spinning down, sun-side.   You wouldn't want to be blinded, burnt, and radiation-scarred all at the same time,   would you?\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal started to walk away.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The officer called after him, \"Trantor   would only be a gray blur anyway, Kid. Why don't you take a space-tour once you hit   Trantor. They're cheap.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal looked back, \"Thank you very much.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was   childish to feel disappointed, but childishness comes almost as naturally to a man   as to a child, and there was a lump in Gaal's throat. He had never seen Trantor spread   out in all its incredibility, as large as life, and he hadn't expected to have to   wait longer.       \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e 2       \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The ship landed in a medley of noises. There was   the far-off hiss of the atmosphere cutting and sliding past the metal of the ship.   There was the steady drone of the conditioners fighting the heat of friction, and   the slower rumble of the engines enforcing deceleration. There was the human sound   of men and women gathering in the debarkation rooms and the grind of the hoists lifting   baggage, mail, and freight to the long axis of the ship, from which they would be   later moved along to the unloading platform.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal felt the slight jar that indicated   the ship no longer had an independent motion of its own. Ship's gravity had been   giving way to planetary gravity for hours. Thousands of passengers had been sitting   patiently in the debarkation rooms which swung easily on yielding force-fields to   accommodate its orientation to the changing direction of the gravitational forces.   Now they were crawling down curving ramps to the large, yawning locks.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal's   baggage was minor. He stood at a desk, as it was quickly and expertly taken apart   and put together again. His visa was inspected and stamped. He himself paid no attention.     \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This was Trantor! The air seemed a little thicker here, the gravity a bit greater,   than on his home planet of Synnax, but he would get used to that. He wondered if   he would get used to immensity.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Debarkation Building was tremendous. The roof   was almost lost in the heights. Gaal could almost imagine that clouds could form   beneath its immensity. He could see no opposite wall; just men and desks and coverging   floor till it faded out in haze.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man at the desk was speaking again. He sounded   annoyed. He said, \"Move on, Dornick.\" He had to open the visa, look again, before   he remembered the name.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal said, \"Where—where—\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man at the desk jerked   a thumb, \"Taxis to the right and third left.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal moved, seeing the glowing   twists of air suspended high in nothingness and reading, \"TAXIS TO ALL POINTS.\"     \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A figure detached itself from anonymity and stopped at the desk, as Gaal left.   The man at the desk looked up and nodded briefly. The figure nodded in return and   followed the young immigrant.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He was in time to hear Gaal's destination.         \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Gaal found himself hard against a railing.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The small sign said, \"Supervisor.\"   The man to whom the sign referred did not look up. He said, \"Where to?\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal   wasn't sure, but even a few seconds hesitation meant men queuing in line behind him.     \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Supervisor looked up, \"Where to?\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal's funds were low, but there was   only this one night and then he would have a job. He tried to sound nonchalant: \"A   good hotel, please.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Supervisor was unimpressed. \"They're all good. Name   one.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal said, desperately, \"The nearest one, please.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Supervisor touched   a button. A thin line of light formed along the floor, twisting among others which   brightened and dimmed in different colors and shades. A ticket was shoved into Gaal's   hands. It glowed faintly.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Supervisor said, \"One point twelve.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal fumbled   for the coins. He said, \"Where do I go?\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Follow the light. The ticket will keep   glowing as long as you're pointed in the right direction.\"   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaal looked up and   began walking. There were hundreds creeping across the vast floor, following their   individual trails, sifting and straining themselves through intersection points to   arrive at their respective destinations.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His own trail ended. A man in glaring   blue and yellow uniform, shining and new in unstainable plastotextile, reached for   his two bags.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Direct line to the Luxor,\" he said.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man who followed Gaal   heard that. He also heard Gaal say, \"Fine,\" and watched him enter the blunt-nosed   vehicle.","brand":"Spectra","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303225282789,"sku":"NP9780553293357","price":10.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553293357.jpg?v=1767727597","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/foundation-isbn-9780553293357","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}