{"product_id":"the-gods-themselves-isbn-9780553288100","title":"The Gods Themselves","description":"In the twenty-second century Earth obtains limitless, free energy from a source science little understands: an exchange between Earth and a parallel universe, using a process devised by the aliens. But even free energy has a price. The transference process itself will eventually lead to the destruction of the Earth's Sun—and of Earth itself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnly a few know the terrifying truth—an outcast Earth scientist, a rebellious alien inhabitant of a dying planet, a lunar-born human intuitionist who senses the imminent annihilation of the Sun. They know the truth—but who will listen? They have foreseen the cost of abundant energy—but who will believe? These few beings, human and alien, hold the key to Earth's survival.\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.\"No good!\" said Lamont, sharply. \"I didn't get anywhere.\" He had a brooding look   about him that went with his deep-set eyes and the slight asymmetry of his long chin.   There was a brooding look about him at the best of limes, and this was not the best   of limes. His second formal interview with Hallam had been a greater fiasco than   the first.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Don't be dramatic,\" said Myron Bronowski, placidly. \"You didn't expect   to. You told me that.\" He was tossing peanuts into the air and catching them in his   plump-lipped mouth as they came down. He never missed. He was not very tall, not   very thin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That doesn't make it pleasant. But you're right, it doesn't matter.   There are other things J can do and intend to do and, besides that, I depend on you.   If you could only find out-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Don't finish, Pete. I've heard it all before. All   I have to do is decipher the thinking of a non-human intelligence.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"A better-than-human   intelligence. Those creatures from the para-Universe are trying to make themselves   understood.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That may be,\" sighed Bronowski, \"but they're trying to do it through   my intelligence, which is better than human I sometimes think, but not much. Sometimes,   in the dark of the night, I lie awake and wonder if different intelligences can communicate   at all; or, if I've had a particularly bad day, whether the phrase 'different intelligences'   has meaning at all.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It does,\" said Lamont savagely, his hands clearly bailing   into fists within his lab coat pockets. \"It means Hallam and me. It means that fool-hero,   Dr. Frederick Hallam and me. We're different intelligences because when I talk to   him he doesn't understand. His idiot face gets redder and his eyes bulge and his   ears block. I'd say his mind stops functioning, but flack the proof of any other   state from which it might stop.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bronowski murmured, \"What a way to speak of the   Father of the Electron Pump.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That's it. Reputed Father of the Electron Pump. A   bastard birth, if ever there was one. His contribution was least in substance. I   know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know, too. You've told me often,\" and Bronowski tossed another peanut   into the air. He didn't miss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It had happened thirty years before. Frederick Hallam   was a radiochemist, with the print on his doctoral dissertation still wet and with   no sign whatever of being a world-shaker.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What began the shaking of the world was   the fact\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e that a dusty reagent bottle marked \"Tungsten Metal\" stood on his desk.   It wasn't his; he had never used it. It was a legacy from some dim day when some   past n habitant of the office had\u003cbr\u003e wanted tungsten for some long-forgotten reason.   It wasn't even really tungsten any more. It consisted of small pellets of what was   now heavily layered with oxide-gray and dusty. No use to anyone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And one day Hallam   entered the laboratory (well, it was October 3, 2070, to be exact), got to work,   stopped shortly before 10 A.M., stared transfixed at the bottle, and lifted it. It   was as dusty as ever, the label as faded, but he called out, 'God damn it; who the   hell has been tampering with this?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That, at least, was the account of Denison,   who overheard the remark and who told it to Lamont a generation later. The official   tale of the discovery, as reported n the books, leaves out the phraseology. One gets   the impression of a keen-eyed chemist, aware of change and instantly drawing deep-seated   deductions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Not so. Hallam had no use for the tungsten; it was of no earthly value   to him and any tampering with it could be of no possible importance to him. However,   he hated any interference with his desk (as so many do) and he suspected others of   possessing keen desires to engage in such interference out of sheer malice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No one   at the time admitted to knowing anything about the matter. Benjamin Allan Denison,   who overheard the initial remark, had an office immediately across the corridor and   both doors were open. He looked up and met Hallam's accusatory eye.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He didn't particularly   like Hallam (no one particularly did) and he had slept badly the night before. He   was, as it happened and as he later recalled, rather pleased to have someone on whom   to vent his spleen, and Hallam made the perfect candidate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Hallam held the   bottle up to his face, Denison pulled back with clear distaste. \"Why the devil should   I be interested in your tungsten?\" he demanded. \"Why should anyone? If you'll look   at the bottle, you'll see that the thing hasn't been opened for twenty years; and   if you hadn't put your own grubby paws on it, you would have seen no one had touched   it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hallam flushed a slow, angry red. He said, tightly, \"Listen, Denison, someone   has changed the contents. That's not the tungsten.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Denison allowed himself a small,   but distinct sniff. \"How would you know?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Of such things, petty annoyance and aimless   thrusts, is history made.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It would have been an unfortunate remark in any case.   Denison's scholastic record, as fresh as Hallam's, was far more impressive and he   was the bright-young man of the department. Hallam knew this and, what was worse,   Denison knew it too, and made no secret of it. Denison's \"How would you know?\" with   the clear and unmistakable emphasis on the \"you,\" was ample motivation for all that   followed. Without it, Hallam would never have become the greatest and most revered   scientist in history, to use the exact phrase Denison later used in his interview   with Lamont.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Officially, Hallam had come in on that fateful morning, noticed the   dusty gray pellets gone-not even the dust on the inside surface remaining-and clear   iron-gray metal in their place. Naturally, he investigated.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But place the official   version to one side. It was Denison. Had he confined himself to a simple negative,   or a shrug, the chances are that Hallam would have asked others, then eventually   wearied of the unexplained event, put the bottle to one side, and let subsequent   tragedy, whether subtle or drastic (depending on how long the ultimate discovery   was delayed), guide the future. In any event, it would not have been Hallam who rode   the whirlwind to the heights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With the \"How would you know?\" cutting him down, however,   Hallam could only retort wildly, \"I'll show you that I know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And after that, nothing   could prevent him from going to extremes. The analysis of the metal in the old container   became his number-one priority, and his prime goal was to wipe the haughtine from   Denison's thin-nosed face and the perpetual trace of a sneer from his pale lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Denison never forgot that moment for it was his own remark that drove Hallam to   the Nobel Prize and himself to oblivion.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He had no way of knowing (or if he knew   he would not then have cared) that there was an overwhelming stubbornness in Hallam,   the mediocrity's frightened need to safeguard his pride, that would carry the day   at that time more than all Denison's native brilliance would have.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hallam moved   at once and directly. He carried his metal to the mass spectrography department.   As a radiation chemist it was a natural move. He knew the technicians there, he had   worked with them, and he was forceful. He was forceful to such an effect, indeed,   that the job was placed ahead of projects of much greater pith and moment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The mass   spectrographer said eventually, \"Well, it isn't tungsten.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hallam's broad and humorless   face wrinkled into a harsh smile. \"All right. We'll tell that to Bright-boy Denison.   I want a report and--\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"But wait awhile, Dr. Hallam. I'm telling you it's not tungsten,   but that doesn't mean I know what it is.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What do you mean you don't know what   it is.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I mean the results are ridiculous.\" The technician thought a while. \"Impossible,   actually. The chargemass ratio is all wrong.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"All wrong in what way?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Too high.   It just can't be.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, then,\" said Hallam and, regardless of the motive that   was driving him, his next remark set him on the road to the Nobel Prize and, it might   even be argued, a deserved one, \"get the frequency of its characteristic x-radiation   and figure out the charge. Don't just sit around and talk about something being impossible.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was a troubled technician who came into Hallam's office a few days later.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hallam   ignored the trouble on the other's face-he was never sensitive-and said, \"Did you   find-\"He then cast a troubled look of his own at Denison, sitting at the desk in   his own lab and shut the door. \"Did you find the nuclear charge?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes, but it's   wrong.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"All right, Tracy. Do it over.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I did it over a dozen times. It's wrong.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"If you made a measurement, that's it. Don't argue with the facts.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tracy rubbed   his ear and said, \"I've got to, Doe. If I take the measurements seriously, then what   you've given me is plutonium-186.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Plutonium-186? Plutonium-186?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"The charge   is +94. The mass is 186.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"But that's impossible. There's no such isotope. There   can't be.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That's what I'm saying to you. But those are the measurements.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"But   a situation like that leaves the nucleus over fifty neutrons short. You can't have   plutonium-186. I You couldn't squeeze ninety-four protons into one nucleus with only   ninety-two neutrons\u003cbr\u003e and expect it to hang together for even a trillion-trillionth   of a second.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That's what I'm telling you, Doc,\" said Tracy, patiently.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And then   Hallam stopped to think. It was tungsten he was missing and one of its isotopes,   tungsten-186, was stable. Tungsten-186 had 74 protons and 112 neutrons in its nucleus.   Could something have turned twenty neutrons into twenty protons? Surely that was   impossible.Winner of the Hugo and Nebula awards  With a new Introduction by Kim Stanley Robinson","brand":"Spectra","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304157008101,"sku":"NP9780553288100","price":10.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553288100.jpg?v=1767739571","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-gods-themselves-isbn-9780553288100","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}