Jim was in the galley. It was late, most of the crew had gone to quarters for sleep, which is what Jim would do in just a few moments, he just needed to finish up cleaning. It had been a relatively quiet night. It was early in the week, and the crew hadn’t quite built up the steam to need to blow any of it off yet. Plus, the closer they got to Kingdom territory, the more solemn and on edge the crew became.

Jim was methodically scrubbing the flat top grill when he heard a light knock on the doorway to the galley. He turned to see a thin Dojian standing in the doorway, four padded feet and a tail dragging on the ground, shoulders slouched, and his eyes only half open, nestled between his elongated nostrils that ran along the side of his head. Jim could tell he hadn’t been sleeping. No matter the race, tired muscles all looked the same. “Bud, what are you doing up? We’re closer to morning muster than evening chow, you should be asleep,” Jim said, having a feeling he knew the answer.

“Well, that’s just the thing, Padre, I haven’t been able to sleep,” said Bud, coming into the galley with a few quiet steps (Dojians were always so quiet with their footsteps, it creeped out more than a few humans), “I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can, but I can’t prescribe you any sleeping meds if you’re due on duty any time soon,” said Jim, guiltily hoping this wasn’t a medical call.

“That won’t be necessary, this is more a matter of the mind than the body, I’m afraid,” explained Bud in his thick Dojani accent. Native Dojani relied very heavily on a wide variety of vowels, so Dojani accents on English tended to mutter through the consonants and over emphasize the vowels. Jim found the accent difficult to follow, but he had enough experience with it not to need repetition.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Bud, what can I do for you?”

Bud paused for a moment before continuing on, “Does that god of yours have anything to say about guilt?” he finally asked.

“Lots,” Jim confirmed. This was the part he always loved about his work, helping people to understand how faith in the Christian God could help them not just in the afterlife, but in this one. Now it was Jim’s turn to pause before continuing, “Most humans view guilt as a kind of weight upon the mind. In the Catholic faith we are taught that this weight comes from sin, and the only way to unburden yourself of that weight is through confession.”

“Confession? That is not an option for me,” said Bud, saddened at the news.

“Well, the confession of which I speak may be different than the one you imagine. You see, in the Catholic faith the most important confession you can make is not to any person but to God. This is done by performing a rite that involves sharing your sin with a priest such as myself. The priest listens to you and helps you to properly identify your sin, that is, identify exactly what it is that is making you feel guilty. Once this is done, the priest helps you to follow a path to absolution, whereby you will be forgiven your sins in the eyes of God.”

“But you see, what causes me to feel the way I do, my, uh… sin, you call it? I can not share it with anyone, for if it were to become known… I would not survive the repercussions,” said Bud, again descending into a tone of hopelessness.

“What I hear in a confessional I am bound by oath and faith to never divulge to anyone, under any circumstances.”

“To anyone? What if the police questioned you, or some gang tortured you?” asked Bud, not yet believing.

“St. John of Nepomuk allowed himself to be drowned in a river by his king rather than divulge the confession of the queen. We priests have been keeping the Seal of the Confessional above all manner of human interference for millennia.”

“You would die before you revealed someone else’s secret? Even someone who had done something terrible?” asked Bud, almost incredulous this time.

“Son, my faith saved my life, to violate that faith would be to ruin what life I have left anyway. Furthermore, to reveal someone’s confession might ruin their chance at absolution, and damn them to an eternity in Hell. There can be no greater sin against a person.”

Bud looked at the preacher as if he were staring at him from across the poker table. Jim did not blink. “How does your confession work?” Bud finally asked.

Jim smiled, “Not in the galley, and not this late at night. Come by my quarters tomorrow after lunch, we will sit and chat. I promise, by the time we are done talking, you will already begin to feel better.”