The Final Frontier 8

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TF01 3,Wolf 359 - Part 1 4,by Rory Johnston Star Trek: The Next Generation -------------------------------- "Wolf 359, Part 1" by Rory Johnston ------------------------------------- As the Enterprise warped home to Earth, Captain Picard sat in Ten Forward, watching the light from the passing stars melt into rainbow streaks as the ship sped past. His hands still nursed the untouched drink on the table. It was night-watch, and Ten Forward was dark, illuminated only by the passing of the stars. "So, what brings you here?" asked Guinan, taking a seat opposite Picard, deliberately cutting his view of the hypnotic stars. "Couldn't sleep," Picard looked down at the synthehol, swirling the glass round and round. "Nightmares?" assumed Guinan. "Is it that obvious?" asked Picard, sipping from the glass. "Not to everyone, but you can't hide things like that from your bartender," she chastised. When Picard failed to reply, she added, "The Borg." Picard lifted his sullen head slowly, as if asking how she knew. He received one of her usual repetoire of unreadable expressions. "Tell me about what you know of the Borg," said Picard, moving the subject from himself to the cause of his sleepless nights. "About one hundred years ago, while I was staying on Earth, my world was destroyed by what you call the Borg, but they were not the Borg as you know them. They were different, they were the ancestors of the Borg we know today. You see Jean-Luc, about five years after my world was destroyed, the Borg changed. We don't know why, we don't know how. They simply withdrew from their conquests in the Delta Quadrant, back to their world and then," Guinan paused, searching for the right words, "mutated into a race of cyborgs." "A short time after the Borg invaded my world, I decided to return home to see my father. I found that our solar system had been destroyed, and our people killed. I was one of the few who survived. We've been keeping an eye on the Borg ever since, but we still can't find out why they changed." "If you found yourself in a situation where millions of people had died unnecessarily, would you try to change it?" asked Picard, finishing the synthehol, and moving the empty glass to one side. Guinan narrowed her eyes, spotting the change of tack, but there was something more in Picard's question. "You're asking me about the Enterprise-C, aren't you?" spotted Guinan's intuition. "Yes," said Picard, not in the least surprised that she had made the tenuous connection. She almost knew him better than he knew himself. "How did you know that by sending back the Enterprise-C, you wouldn't create an even worse history? How could you know that a military universe ruled by the Klingons might not have stood a better chance against the Borg or some other invader we haven't yet imagined?" "I didn't," replied Guinan honestly, shrugging her shoulders, as if lightly tossing aside the weight of two universes, "All I sensed was that it was wrong, and I had to return time to the way it had been before." "Don't you feel that this time is wrong somehow, that the thousands of people at Wolf 359 shouldn't have died?" asked Picard, resting elbows on the table, and propping his head on his hands. "Don't torture yourself over this, Jean-Luc, it wasn't your fault. I-" Guinan stopped suddenly, looking sharply back at Picard, alarm in her eyes. The rainbow trails of the stars faded and died suddenly, pulling the Enterprise back down to sub-light speeds. "Red Alert! All hands stand to Battlestations," boomed Commander Riker's voice over the ship. Picard was already jogging out of Ten Forward when his comm badge chimed, "Captain Picard to the bridge." The huge cuboid hung motionless in space. The small starship stood defiantly next to it with shields raised and all weapon systems fully primed. "Data?" asked Picard cautiously, as if too much noise would awake the sleeping Borg. "My analysis suggests that the collective consciousness aboard the vessel has collapsed. Sensors show sporadic energy readings, compared with the uniform energy readings I took at Wolf 359," said Data, starting additional scans of the vessel. "It seems they have developed Hugh's individuality," said Deanna Troi from her customary seat to the Captain's left, "and they don't know what to do with it." "Are you sensing anything?" asked Picard. Deanna raised a hand to her forehead, concentrating, trying to catch a trace of the emotions on the Borg ship. "I sense confusion... uncertainty... panic... anger... hatred..." the counselor trailed off, sagging back into her chair, overcome by a ship containing millions of desperate Borg. "We are being hailed," announced Worf. "On screen." The image of a Borg soldier appeared on the screen. Despite the Borg's usually pale complexion, this Borg seemed to be wasting away, malnourished. When he spoke, his was not the echoed voice of thousands, his was a lone voice. "You have done this to us! You shall pay!" The screen went black. "Captain, they are without purpose; aimless. If they have a cause to rally around, they could become organised again..." whispered Deanna before she collapsed back into her seat. "All hands stand to Battlestations!" shouted Riker, gripping his systems monitor as the hull shook beneath the first blast. "Borg cutting beam has been engaged," informed Worf, horrendous casualty figures scrolling along his console. The computer chimed, followed by the delicate feminine voice, "Containment failure imminent. Core breach in fifty seconds." "Target the source of that cutting beam and fire all phasers," ordered Captain Picard, sweat trickling down his brow. Streaks of red energy spurted out from the secondary hull, hitting their mark on the smooth grey Borg ship to no effect. Streams of green fire spat towards the Enterprise. "Evasive!" shouted Picard. Only Data was fast enough to engage the already damaged engines. The ship lurched to starboard, the gravity compensators straining to keep up with the tremendous speed. Unperturbed, the Borg kept firing. This time not even Data could stop the cutting beam as it sliced through a nacelle, severing a warp engine. "Warp Core breach in thirty seconds," reported the computer. "Geordi eject the core!" shouted Riker into his communicator badge. "Commander La Forge is dead, sir," reported an unfamiliar voice from Engineering. "Ejection systems off-line, the core's stuck where it is." "All hands, abandon ship. Repeat. All hands, abandon ship!" ordered Picard. "Secure the bridge," shouted Riker, as his fellow crew-members put their consoles on automatic and ran to the turbolifts. Flames erupted from the walls of the bridge. The Enterprise shuddered, the deck heaved. Suddenly everything was quiet. The bridge was empty, except for Captain Picard. A face filled the screen. Picard turned, looking into those eyes, his eyes. Locutus. "You will lower your shields and prepare to beam yourself aboard. If you do not co-operate, we will destroy your ship." "Resistance is futile." "No!" shouted Picard, falling to the deck on his knees, "Not again, no, please!" Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 47223.1: It has been over three years since the Borg kidnapped me and turned me against my own kind. Last night I started to have the nightmares again, possibly brought on by our recent contact with the Borg colony lead by Lore. Counsellor Troi has advised me to take up some of my hard earned shore leave, and has even booked passage for me to an archaeological expedition in the Gamma Quadrant. "Station Deep Space Nine," said Picard, leaning forward in the Runabout's plush seat, "Request clearance for wormhole." "USS Ganges, you are cleared for departure," came back the female voice of Bajor's Major Kira. As the bay rose out of the docking ring of DS9, the Ganges' powerful engines thrummed to life, pushing the small ship out towards the wormhole. A kaleidoscope of colours burst into view, coalescing into a portal to the Gamma Quadrant. The Runabout entered the chaotic domain of the Celestial Temple smoothly, it's computer automatically guiding the ship through. Picard stood, taking one last look at the magnificent view inside the wormhole, and walked towards the aft cabin. He removed his uniform, and climbed onto the small bunk, setting an alarm call on the computer to wake him when the Runabout reached its destination. Sleep found him quickly, partly through exhaustion, and partly through the captain's need to escape from the world around him - the world that he had helped to attack. Soon he was asleep, his thoughts drifting in the still vacuum of the Gamma Quadrant. Captain's Log, Stardate 47223.4, acting Captain Riker in command: Having dropped Captain Picard off at Deep Space Nine, we are proceeding to the moon of Beta Omicron IX, following a distress call reporting that the colony was under attack. "Entering the Beta Omicron system, sir," reported Worf, standing ready for battle, watching for the slightest sign of trouble. "Anything on sensors?" asked Riker, stroking his beard. "Nothing, sir," said Worf's gravely voice, "but the attacker could be cloaked. "Life-signs from the colony?" Data consulted his terminal before replying, checking that he had not made an error, "None, sir." "Sir! I am detected an energy surge from behind the moon!" shouted Worf, fingers poised over the shield controls. "Red alert," ordered Riker, rising from the command chair, "Shields up! Arm photon torpedoes." "Mister Data?" "The vessel reads as cube shaped, the dimensions are twice those of the vessel we faced at Wolf 359," said Data. "Ensign, 180 degree turn!" shouted Riker, wishing he had followed the Captain and taken a holiday, "Get us out of here!" The huge bird swung around sharply, warp power flowed through the engines. The Borg lanced over the top of the moon and grabbed on; "The Borg have locked on," announced Geordi above the background noise of the loudly pulsing engine, "Attempting shield nutation." "Too late!" growled Worf. "Shields collapsing." "I am detecting a power surge in Engineering," announced Data, pitched forward in his seat after another blast shook the hull. "Magnetic bottles are fluctuating; antimatter containment failure imminent." "yoH veSDuj Enterprise, batlh Daqawlu'taH," whispered Worf, lapsing into his mother-tongue as the Starship Enterprise, pride of the Starfleet, was torn limb from limb. "Destination reached." "Establish geo-synchronous orbit," ordered Jean-Luc Picard, rising from his sweat-soaked bunk. Picard pulled his legs out from between the damp sheets, letting them dangle over the side. Catching his breath, he sat and waited for his pulse to drop out of warp. Changing into some casual clothes, he placed his communicator badge in his pocket and walked into the Runabout's cockpit. "Computer; maintain orbit." "Automatic helm control activated." Lifting a small bag from his luggage, he stepped onto the transporter platform, "Computer; energise." Picard materialised outside a large tent, the loose folds flapping insistently in the harsh wind. The sky overhead was a harsh grey. Gently undulating dunes of soft, red sand stretched unendingly towards the horizon. "Hello," Picard shouted at the tent. A voice from inside the tent replied, "Come in, Jean-Luc, I've been expecting you." Recognising the voice of his friend, Picard cast aside the loose fabric, ducking into the dark enclosure. "Lewis! It's good to see you again," Picard grasped the profferred hand warmly, "I thought you would have been busy under the oceans back on Earth." "I'm on loan to the archaeology team. They wanted my help with the digs under the sea here, apparently the divers have found a whole city under the waves and it's been preserved perfectly," informed Lewis, Picard's old friend from his home village of Labarre in France. "So," said Picard, squatting down on one of the low boxes in the tent, "what do we know so far?" "Actually, not a lot, we're not even sure that they were humanoid. What we do know is that the inhabitants either died out or left very suddenly for some reason. The planet's just starting to recover from their exploitation; we've calculated that the surface must have been almost completely covered in one huge city," said Lewis, leaning back against a crate. "That's incredible. When can I start?" asked Picard, eager to see this world for himself. "Right now. I've found a very interesting site for you study," Lewis pushed himself up from the sandy floor, slapping the red out his trousers. "Come on, I'll show you." Lewis led an intrigued Picard out of the tent and over a small hillock. Over the rise, a huge spike arched out of the ground. Dark metal covered the obelisk, giving it a sinister complexion. "What is it?" asked Jean-Luc, drawing his tricorder from the bag. Lewis waited while the Captain scanned the read-out. Passive scans revealed nothing, almost as if the object did not exist. Switching to an active scan, the tricorder failed to obtain any information other than that the structure was, indeed, there. Picard's blank face repeated his earlier question. Lewis turned back towards the protrusion, shading his eyes from the glaring, mid- day sun. "That's for you to find out. Off you go, Jean-Luc." Picard waved his friend goodbye and started off towards the monument, leaving a trail of shallow imprints in the soft sand. Lewis returned to his tent and opened the crate Picard had been sitting on. Lifting out a small screen, he keyed in a sequence. The device hummed into life, and a beautiful face filled the tiny screen. Soft, black curls draped across the bare shoulders of a young woman. "Counselor, he's arrived and he's having the time of his life. I've given him something to keep him occupied for weeks," said Lewis, smiling into the receiver. "Are you sure he's all right? He's very good at hiding his emotions," questioned Deanna Troi, who knew that you had to empathic to read Picard even at the best of times. "Believe me, Counselor; after a week, he'll be begging me to stay." "Okay," said Troi, pleased that the Captain was finally having time to himself, time for him to explore his feelings, "Thank you, Lewis." The counselor leaned forward, her gentle fingers softly disconnecting the link. Picard approached the spike carefully, looking up and down the giant structure. Although it was dark and foreboding, it had a certain artistic quality. Intricate patterns decorated the curving sides, reaching upwards in a chaotic dance of greys and black. Pulling his eyes away from the hypnotic pattern, he began to see that there was an underlying logic to the design. It was more than simply decoration, it was code - a language. The tricorder recorded it, and began to try to decipher it, linking with the computer on-board the Runabout. Leaving the computers to decode the writing, Picard circled the structure, searching for it's purpose. What is it? Perhaps simply a message, to those that find this planet after the inhabitants had left? No, it must be more than that, thought Picard, his hands caressing the smooth metal surface, his fingers running through the grooves, searching for an answer to his curiosity. Suddenly, Picard became aware that the air was getting hot. Looking up, he saw that the sun was setting to the south, but it was still light. His eyes were drawn back to the huge spike, and his gaze fell upon the tip. A strange glow encompassed it, growing brighter and hotter. A lighting arc of energy leapt from the tip, shooting straight towards Picard, so fast, not even Data could have avoided it. Picard was engulfed by the glow. It seemed to swirl around him, writhing faster and faster, absorbing his body and soul. When the sun set, the plain was empty, only the giant obelisk and a discarded tricorder were left. * * * * * Mist; swirling in the darkness. Darkness; surrounding Picard and blotting out all else. From the moment Picard became aware of himself, he had been trying to move, trying to escape from the darkness, the mist. He strained, concentrating every fibre of his being on just moving one small muscle, but he couldn't, there was nothing there. The mist moved, coalescing into a shape. Picard saw the grey mass take on definition and depth, but he didn't see with his eyes, he was no-longer sure he had eyes; his consciousness was all that was present. The mist was now recognisable as Q, the super-being Picard had tangled with on many occasions, and who had first given the Borg a taste for humanity when he had flung the Enterprise to the far reaches of the galaxy and right into the Borg's lap. "Q! What is going on?" demanded a voice. Picard cast around for the third persona, but he realised it was himself speaking. No, not speaking - thinking. "Calm down, mon Capitaine," said Q, pacing towards Picard's point of view now that his feet had formed from the haze. "I'm here to help you." "I find that hard to believe, Q," thought Picard. "Believe it or not, Jeanny," replied Q, "I'm going to help you through a difficult part of your life, something you'd like to forget, but can't." "Q," warned Picard sternly, "I don't want help, least of all from you!" "Humph!" sighed Q, "Well, if that's the way you want it..." Q faded back into the mist, casting a trail of small whirlwinds in the haze behind him. Footsteps. Slow, methodical footfalls. The mist parted, revealing the tall figure of a Vulcan. The shadows casting a satanic look on the upswept features. The stranger wore the classic Vulcan fringe, black trousers tucked into his boots, and a blue top with a sciences emblem. Picard recognised him at once, he was a part of him. But this was not Spock as he knew him, this was the man he mind-melded with, but from a different time. "Captain," addressed Spock, standing at ease, his hands behind his back, "You have not yet recovered from your experience with the Borg." Spock sensed that Picard was puzzled, although Picard had made no conscious effort to purvey that emotion. "I come to serve." "There is no need, Spock. I am over the Borg. I do not need your help," answered Picard angrily, wondering which memory would appear next and try to counsel him - Counselor Troi perhaps. But Spock was not finished, and was not about to give up as easily as Q. Fixing Picard with that Vulcan stare, he asked, "A lie?" "A conceit." "Then you are lying to yourself." "Yes," replied Picard, without thinking, then "No. I cannot change what has happened. I have accepted what I was made to do." "Would you change it if you could?" Picard was not expecting this, and had to think. Time no longer seemed to exist here, so he had time to examine his rationale. If he were given a second chance, would he take it? After much thought, the answer was clear, if not for himself, then for the thousands of people killed by the Borg; "Yes. I would." "Even if it meant your own death?" asked Spock, raising that one questioning eyebrow. "The good of many, outweighs the good of the few -" "- or the one," finished Spock, "It is logical..." Spock faded back into the mist, or was it back into himself; Picard wasn't sure. Q emerged again, a mocking smile on his face. "It was all your fault, you were entirely to blame," announced Q. "Me?" asked Picard, "How?" "Well, not you personally," admitted Q, "but your race. You created the Borg just as surely as you built that little starship of yours." "We did? When?" asked the Captain, even more confused. "Don't you know?" Q dissolved, the mist swirling around Picard, consuming his vision, surrounding every part of his being. Knowledge flooded into Picard, flashes of the past lodging in his mind, faster than he could possibly comprehend. Suddenly he knew; Earth had sent out many probes in its infancy, searching for the answers to a complex universe it could not understand. One of the probes from the Voyager series, Voyager 6, had been sent out to "learn everything learnable" and then to send that information back to Earth. In the course of the probe's journey, it was caught in the gravity well of a black hole, and was pulled inside. The probe emerged from a similar construction many light years away. Voyager 6 was intercepted by a new race, a race of intelligent machines who had outgrown their creators, This was a race who saw all organic life as "infestation", something to be eliminated so that they could freely explore the galaxy. In their search of the galaxy they had found no other races like their own, only infestations. The machines had reached a precipice in their evolution, they had learned all they could about the universe. They were asking, "Is this all there is to know?" When they found the probe, a machine that was almost self-aware through the huge quantities of knowledge it had amassed, they saw a chance to contact a new race. The machines sent V'Ger, as they called it, back to Earth, searching for the creator they wished to join with. When the probe returned to the homeworld, it brought a gift from the creator - emotions. The machines took these emotions, and became the Borg. Changes are the driving force behind evolution, whether they are caused by the environment or by random mutations. Not all mutations are bad, some cause a new talent to blossom across a planet, like the telepathic powers that bloomed across Betazed. However, this mutation, although well-meaning and indeed wished for, produced a twisted and maladjusted offspring. It produced a combination of flesh and machine, a mockery of nature. Now, with their twisted emotions, the Borg realised that the "infestations" they had been destroying were merely their less developed ancestors. Filled with the compassion given to them by humanity, the Borg launched a new campaign to raise the quality of life for all species to the perfection the Borg represented. "Would you change it if you could?" asked Spock. Picard wondered if he had had this conversation before, in another time. Time? What is that? Is it no more that a fast flowing river we can wade through? "Yes." "Comm Station Epsilon Nine calling USS Columbia. Come in Columbia, respond please." "This is USS Columbia. Please relay Starfleet mission orders." "Scout ship Columbia, NCC 621 rendezvous with NCC 5995 on Stardate 7411.4. at prearranged co-ordinates." "Thank you Epsilon Nine, mission orders received." "End of transmission... What the...?" "Unidentified vessel; this is Epsilon Nine station, please identify yourself. Repeat, please identify yourself." Epsilon Nine station, a communications post on the far reaches of Federation territory, sat alone in the dark cloth of space. The light from a nearby star washed over the smooth metal struts that made up the station, causing them to glint like rich jewels. External beauty overlaid the internal panic. A huge object was approaching, not responding to hails, and having already destroyed three Klingon warships. The station was reflected in the long front windows of the Runabout. Picard opened his eyes, now that he had eyes again, and stared up at the view. Extricating himself from the floor of the Runabout's cockpit, he took another look out of the window. This was not where he had been before, this was nowhere near the archaeology expedition. A lone figure, encased in a space suit and booster pack, was approaching the Runabout. The suited figure glided gracefully towards the Runabout. "Unidentified vessel; this is Epsilon Nine, respond please." Reaching for the tactical display, Picard warily switched on the transmitter, "This is the Federation vessel Ganges," Picard paused, considering the situation - he did not know the situation, "Request docking.". Minutes past, Picard was about to send his request again, when a voice filled subspace, "Ganges; your vessel is not on record, however request approved. Please come to docking latch two, over." Picard fired up the dormant engines and brought the craft about, setting his sights on the flashing lights of Epsilon Nine. While approaching, Picard called up the library computer, asking for details of the Epsilon Nine station, a station he had not heard of. The answer; it had been destroyed with all hands on stardate 7412.6, almost thirty years before he was even born. But he was here, now. A thought flickered across Picard's mind like pollen caught in the wind: "When am I?" "Computer: using astral projections of constellational drift, calculate current stardate." "Working," chimed the computer. The station was drawing closer, Picard could see anxious faces behind the portholes on the station as he past. Aligning the docking latch, he drew the Runabout alongside. "Calculations indicate that current stardate is 7412.5," announced the computer. Detecting the magnitude of that last statement, the computer automatically instituted a Level One diagnostic. "Calculations confirmed." The docking latch gripped the hull, holding the Runabout tight as an airlock was formed between the station and the craft. A loud knocking noise rang out across the hull. Picard allowed the Runabout's door to be opened. A young man stepped inside, quickly followed by a dozen other young men and women. They were wearing the light blue uniforms of scientists, and they wore the worried masks of condemned men. The first man hurried across to Picard, "Quickly! We must leave now!" "Is this your entire crew?" asked Picard, counting the heads bobbing around the cabin. "No, Carter's still out there," he pointed his finger at the approaching space suit. "Does this shuttle have a transporter?" Picard reached across, pressing the emergency transport toggle. The space suit materialised at the back of the cockpit. It was immediately surrounded by men, pulling off it's helmet and exposing a sweating woman beneath. She was pulled through into the aft cabin, "Right," said the man, Picard looked down at his uniform cuff; a commander, "Let's go." Accepting the fear in his eyes as proof enough, Picard commanded the door to be closed and the docking latch retracted. Set free, the Runabout lunged out into space, fleeing from the cloud, now large on the sensors, and growing closer by the second. Now that Picard had time to think, he consulted the computer again, "Computer: what destroyed the Epsilon Nine station?" One word, just one word that reminded Picard of the deathly knowledge he had acquired; "V'Ger." A pale complexion clouded Picard's features as he recalled the chain of events, and Spock's words: "Would you change it if you could?" There was an answer, a key. V'Ger could be stopped, and by a simple coded sequence. Almost not daring to believe that he could do it, Picard whispered, "Computer: recall data on Earth probe - Voyager 6, specifically the code for Voyager to transmit it's collected data back to Earth." The screen came alive, showing historical data on the Voyager probe. A three dimensional representation rotated, highlighting it's components. The all-important code that would save hundreds of thousands of lives was displayed at the bottom. "Computer," said Picard, his voice going hoarse, "Transmit binary code into heart of the cloud." The computer chime indicated that it's instruction had been carried out. Picard waited, his fingers trembling, unable to draw his eyes away from the sensors. Suddenly the cloud began to dissipate, becoming smaller and smaller, whittling down to a small, familiar shape. The large radio antenna and computer core swivelled on it's axis, powered by small, microfusion thrusters. Orientating itself towards the home of it's creator, the probe transmitted it's knowledge. Reams of data flowed through space, intercepted by a shining bird, flying to render assistance. The hulking bird drew up alongside the Runabout and the probe. The comm screen flickered to life. "This is Federation Starship Enterprise, identify yourself please." "Captain Kirk, I presume," said Picard, deciding not reveal his true name, "I am Galen." "Mister Galen, please accept the Federation's appreciation for the great deed you have performed for us. We have been monitoring your activities." "I am honoured, if you would like to beam the Epsilon Nine crew aboard, I have other matters to attend to," said Picard, trying to conclude the contact as quickly as possible. "Certainly," Kirk gestured off-screen. Picard could hear the whine of the old-style transporters in the aft section of the Runabout. Captain Kirk studied the image on the viewscreen intently, hoping he could unravel it's secrets if he stared hard enough. "Spock, what do you make of that?" Spock turned his head from the science console. "Unknown," said Spock, gazing into the dark mist that was forming around the small alien craft. A bleep summoned back Spock's attention, his console had finished a cross-check he had ordered. "Fascinating." Commander Spock stepped down from the science station on the bridge, leaning behind his captain, he whispered, "This is not an alien vessel. It is emitting a Federation transponder code." "What class of vessel is that?" asked Kirk, turning to look at the small, shuttle-like craft. "Unknown, but the registry number of the vessel is far in excess of those currently being issued by Starfleet." "You mean...?" "Yes Captain, this vessel is from our future." "Uhura," Kirk glanced at his Communications officer, "get Galen back." "On screen..." "Captain?" asked Galen. "Galen," said Kirk, deciding to lay all his cards on the table, "you're not from our time are you?" Galen's eyebrow's lifted. "I'm sorry Captain, your transmission is breaking up." Picard quickly cut the channel. "Keep monitoring them Spock," said Kirk, swivelling his chair around, turning his back on the future ship, now engulfed in a dark haze, "Scotty, can we get a tractor beam on them?" "Nay Captain, that fog ou' there's playin' th' divil wi' our systems." "Keep trying, Scotty." "Too late, Captain," informed Spock, as Kirk swivelled back around to see that the vessel and the mist had vanished. * * * * * To be continued... ...tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis...