“There’s a cult?”  Captain Wren Walton was incredulous and stared at her Diplomatic Officer, Charlie Hargraves, who looked annoyed at having to report such a thing.

“They believe the Dominion ship that crashed into the planet was a harbinger of the end of the Universe and the opening element in the ‘End Times.’  The leader says he survived the crash into the city and has been given visions to share with everyone.”  He handed over a PADD, “They’re using older scriptures from Janoor’s archives to correlate between the prophecies and the reality of today.  It’s… unfortunately been pretty effective.”

Walton frowned, “How effective?”  She answered her question as she read through the report, “Over 1,000 followers?  You can’t…this is nuts!”  She tossed the PADD back to Hargraves.

He agreed, “We assigned the scriptures and claims to a team to evaluate. They debunked them.  Trouble is…”

Wren finished, “…we’re coming up against an innate feeling and connection to history and an old reliable faith that’s helped them before.  A story as old as time.  It says they’ve not made any demands or movement…so what’s the problem?”

“We’ve got a few Janoor people undercover in the organization.  Recent intelligence from them suggests something is in the works – as soon as the Task Group left and we arrived, there was a rise in chatter about ‘taking action’ or something like that.  The folks we have inside are perceptive…and they’re not given to panic.”

Walton grumbled, “But they’re getting nervous now?”

“Two have requested to be extracted and placed in protective custody on the Mack.  The third is holding steady.”

She blinked, “Protective custody?  That’s…Charlie – we need to get out hands around this thing.”  Wren sat up in her chair in the ready room, “How long would it take to pull the two out?” He replied that it would take a few hours.  She gave the order, “Get them out and get them protected.  We need to talk to them as soon as possible.”  She dismissed him and sat back in her chair.  When the world came crashing down…what would she have done without reason or hope to hold onto?  She wasn’t sure of her answer.

“We’ve got most of the camp immunized, so that’s a win.”  Doctor Henry Longfellow tapped at his PADD, “Now we just need to get a look at the intensive care unit.”  He passed the device to Gabriela Castillo, and she followed him into the tent and down the rows of cots with Janoor III citizens in various stages of recovery.  The Chief Helm officer had been placed into medical assistance after the actual reality of the need became apparent.  Every available hand was in use.  They passed through a plastic wall and found an unfamiliar scene before them.

A priest of some kind stood over a bed; a wooden staff splattered with blue and red paint being waved over the injured party, smacking the bloodied and bruised body every so often, eliciting a moan or a pain-filled cry.  Castillo muttered, “What in the hell?”  The man turned his eyes wide and mouth uttering phrases.

“Do not disturb the will of Janoor!  This man is full of evil and must be cleansed!”  He smacked the body again harder and shouted more of his gibberish.

Longfellow clenched his fists and looked to the Janoor orderlies and doctors.  They had backed away and were visibly afraid of this man.  Henry complained, “Witch doctors went out of style long ago.  Get the hell away from that man, sir.”  He moved forward and was nearly struck by the swinging staff as the man cursed him in native Janoor.  The veteran doctor gave the odd man a long look, “Now, that was a mistake.”  He ducked another swing and slammed his right boot into the man’s knees, a satisfying crack followed by the yelp of pain and the body crashing into the floor with a lowing groan.  Henry snagged a hypospray off the counter and deftly pressed it against the man’s neck.  The man fell unconscious, and Longfellow turned to the Janoor staff, “What the hell happened in here?”

“He marched in here…and told us this man was an abomination.” The Janoor doctor spoke hesitantly, his eyes still wide and wet.  “He attacked us…pushed us away from him.”  A sigh, “We were always taught to respect the old ways, even if…they were like this.”

Henry scoffed, “Well, the old ways nearly killed this man.”  He worked on attaching the machinery and equipment back to the man as the monitors started alarming.  It took him ten minutes, but the man’s condition was improving.  While he worked, Castillo had rounded up a security team who had cuffed the still unconscious cleric and moved him out of the medical tent.  Longfellow completed his rounds through the rest of intensive care and made his notes.  He turned to her, “We need to ask around and find out how many more of these guys are around.  I’m not about to let them do that again to any of these people.”