ENTER: A brunette girl (17) sitting alone on a swing, surrounded by nature. Her back to the treeline, her gaze (obscured by a pair of round spectacles) cuts across the well-manicured lawn to the sprawling mansion-complex known only as THE FOUNDATION. She is wearing a dark blazer over a beige sweater, and a plaid skirt. She is heartbreakingly lovely. Her enormously swollen stomach protrudes into her lap, atop which a thick, leather-bound book is balanced precariously.

>Tell me about yourself.

The voice is gravelly, and smells of brimstone.

<What is there to say?>	 

The girl’s voice is quiet.

>I have had little time to speak with you. Your superiors demand much of me.
<They aren’t my superiors.>
>I wish to understand.
<Fine.>

CUT TO: BARBARA (10) in a vehicle. She is dressed in a set of clothing that has clearly seen better days. A distinguished-looking couple flanks her on either side. We see through her eyes as she stares out the tinted window at THE FOUNDATION; her first glimpse of the place where she will spend the rest of her life. Or not.

MAN: That, girl, is your new home.
BARBARA, dreamily: It’s beautiful.
The MAN and WOMAN exchange glances.
WOMAN: It is, isn’t it?

<My parents never wanted me. I was a disruption to them, and a nuisance. They weren’t ready to be parents, and never would be. I got them both kicked out of their respective homes, and they ran around doing odd-jobs and taking their stress out on me. And when I developed my talents, they just got worse.>

CUT TO: Photographs of BARBARA’s arms, legs, and torso. Scar tissue and faded burns. Another photograph of BARBARA (6) with her parents. Her mother’s knuckles are white. BARBARA’s smile is forced.

CUT TO: BARBARA (10) in class. A PROFESSOR is speaking. Students listen attentively.
PROFESSOR: … never refer to your ability as a curse. If you must, call them talents. But never curses.
BARBARA, in the back, eyes brimming over with tears.

<I liked my time here. I still do. There’s a lot to love. It’s peaceful. Tranquil. Most of the time.>

CUT TO: Shouts and screams. The distant sound of static as the electric-fences surrounding THE FOUNDATION go offline. A single silhouette soars into the sky, whooping, and disappears. A pair of teenagers conversing rapidly in Korean shove their way out the doors. A boy, face twisted with fury, directs a jet of flame at a cowering orderly.

>Most of the time?
<There was an escape attempt a few days ago. We have escape attempts every few months. They usually fail. Still, you only need to succeed once. And did they ever.>

CUT TO: BARBARA (17) sitting alone in the library. There may be a few other students in the library, but we don’t see them. The distant sound of destruction is audible. A few men in tweed jackets stand by the doors, advanced-looking batons clutched in their gloved hands. They look nervous. BARBARA glances at them, then down at her belly.

>You did not escape.
<I didn’t. I was still… adjusting.>

CUT TO: BARBARA (17) being strapped to a bed, a shard of glass clutched in her bloody hand. She has been stripped down to her underwear. There is a shallow cut on her stomach. Her eyes are wide and staring. Her hair is wild.

PROFESSOR, distantly: … bloody girl almost set us back ten years…

<Anyway, the Foundation has a lot of books. A lot of books. I spent every spare moment I could reading. Lots of the stuff here doesn’t really conform to the mainstream scientific consensus. The Foundation has been pushing boundaries for a long, long time.>

CUT TO: BARBARA (10) sitting in the library, reading. She’s still a little twitchy.

CUT TO: BARBARA (12) sitting in the library, reading. She’s calmer, and there’s a small pile of books beside her.

CUT TO: BARBARA (14) sitting in the library, reading. She’s wearing spectacles, and there’s a small notebook at her elbow.

CUT TO: BARBARA (17) sitting in the library, reading. She looks up at a sound and rises to her feet, walking off. The camera follows her, and we see that a man is beckoning to her. She follows him. They walk down one hallway, and then another. BARBARA glances around nervously. She’s never been this far underground before. The comforting wood panelling peels away, replaced by dank air and unpaved stone. There’s a cave system beneath THE FOUNDATION; it goes on for miles. They descend, then ascend. BARBARA blinks as she arrives in what looks like a small cabin in the woods. There is the distant sound of cars passing.

HEADMASTER: Barbara Susan, is it?
BARBARA: Y-yes.

The HEADMASTER is a diminutive, nondescript man. After looking her up and down, he nods decisively. At this signal, a pair of men grasp BARBARA by the arms and wrestle her onto a rough stone plinth. A wad of cloth goes in her mouth. She struggles frantically as she is tied down. The men begin to undress her.

HEADMASTER: I wish we could have met under better circumstances, dear girl, but we’ve recently had a breakthrough. I’ve moved heaven and earth to secure this opportunity, and nothing is going to get in my –

He coughs.

HEADMASTER: In our way.

The HEADMASTER glances around, clearing his throat, and BARBARA notices that all of her teachers are here. Calculus, Chemistry, Physics, Literature, Classics… they’re all here, and they’re all watching. Silently.

HEADMASTER: Mildred, if you please.

A grey-haired woman begins chanting.

The HEADMASTER takes up position beside BARBARA. His voice is low and soothing.

HEADMASTER: Ever since I was a young lad, dear girl, I had a dream. Do you want to know what that dream was? It was to construct a bridge between science and magic. There’s a saying, you see, that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. And you, dear girl… you and your schoolmates… you are, all of you, very, very advanced. Now, you’ve always been an underperformer, if I’m being honest. Hardly a great asset to the Foundation, if I may say so myself. You’re loyal, though. And we value loyalty. We value trust. We value you. Whatever happens, know this.

BARBARA continues to struggle.

HEADMASTER: A few weeks ago, we made contact with a number of extra-terrestrial organisms. Not gods. Not monsters. But aliens. And isn't that exciting?

The ground begins to rumble. The teachers murmur. Blood splatters across the floor of the cavern.

HEADMASTER: Communication took some doing, but with the aid of your schoolmates, we were able to find a happy medium. And we made a bargain with them. You see, they don’t have physical forms the way you and I do, dear girl, and an… adjustment period is needed. So to speak. A host. An incubator. A vacant space, to-let. A womb. Your womb.

The HEADMASTER takes a few steps back. BARBARA’s eyes flick here, there, everywhere, attempting desperately to avoid looking at the presence approaching her.

HEADMASTER, whispering: It’s done. If she dies, no big loss. If she lives… we have an in with the Many-Angled Ones.

>Is that what they call us?

BARBARA (17) blinks. She is sitting on the swing. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. Carefully, she removes the book from her belly and sets it down beside her. A man in a deerstalker hat hovers just out of sight, shooing away any curious students. She hasn’t spoken to any of her schoolmates in months. Not that she was ever that close to any of them, but still. These days, she only really talks to her teachers, and even then, they’re not really talking to her. They’re talking to it.

>I am not unkind.
<Last month, you didn’t even know what kindness was.>
>Your language is… conceptually repulsive. We do not need language to communicate. We do not need communication. We do not need.
<I used to not be able to understand you, but I think I’m beginning to get there. You dream, don’t you?>
>Dream?
<When I sleep, I find myself… somewhere else. It reminds me of that day. The day that you…>
>I see. I do not dream.
<Oh.>
>As I was saying, I am not unkind. You were weak, but now you are strong. What could you do before, Bar-Bar-Ah?
<It’s Barbara. And I could make coins move with my mind.>
>Not anymore, Barbara. You can do so much more than that, now. You can call down lightning from a clear sky, Barbara. You could freeze a man with a thought. You could burn this whole place to the ground.
<I thought you were working with them.>
>They are not your superiors. And they are not my superiors.
<I don’t trust you. What if you’re going to use me to, I dunno, trigger an apocalypse?>
>What is wrong with apocalypses?
<Okay, moving on. I can’t believe you never figured out how to pronounce my name before now.>
>There was no need. Your language…
<Conceptually repulsive. I get it. But what do I call you?>
>Call me… Bob.