The man bends his knees before a crucifix. Darkness flows from the wrinkles of his face, canyons hollowed by the rivers of suffering.
"Da Yukon had 453 crew: a captain, eight bridge officers, 56 gunners, 42 engineers, 45 kitchen staff, 72 utility, 204 marines, 24 pilots, an' one priest. I -- was the priest.
Thanks and thankful to thine generosity, oh Lord, I, thine lovin' servant, was born 60 years ago in a fishin' village on Los Angeles, as Jamar Knight. Muh pa was a fisherman an' very pious, an' I'm thankful for that, 'cuz it kept me away from sin... but muh sinful soul still cracked under it. Muh ma... joined you after giving birth to me, an' I ask you to forgive her sins, although there weren't many. An' I ask you to forgive me, for I haven' yet done anythin' great 'nuff to make her sacrifice worth it.
I escaped from home into da big world when I was 16, 'cuz muh pa was poor an' prim, an' wanned me to be that, too. I dunno what I was thinkin' at da time, an' I couldn' find a job, so I joined a gang. We did gamblin', debt collectin', marijuana, cardi, all you can think of. But we had competition. I killed two men from other gangs. One with a gun, from far, da man didn' even know wha' got 'im. But I felt so bad after it, an' it took me months to recover. Da second one I killed from close, with a knife, but from his back an' while he was sleepin'. Slaughtered 'im like a pig, da bed was soaked with his blood. An' I didn' feel a thing.
An' then, one day, da boss sent me to kill a kid. It was da son of a gang leader he'd shot, an' he was 'fraid da kid would want to avenge his father. He didn' wanna do it himself, 'cuz he didn' want innocent blood on his hands, so he sent me. I couldn' do it. Da kid only had his mother, an alcoholic, an' I had to hide him an' muhself, so I took him to a monastery, where I became a priest, an' took care of him as a father. I changed muh name to Josiah King, confessed muh sins, an' repented for years in silence. I only spoke to Pete... Peter was da name of da boy, an' only as muh duty to you, oh Lord, an' him.
One night, just after his eighteenth birthday, deep dark night, da midnight had already passed, he returned to da monastery. We couldn' find him that day, so we thought Pete had left to find work, as he was da right age, an' no longer be a burden on our backs. He returned, limpin', groadin, droolin', blood drippin' down his left leg, with a hole in his stomach. Poor Pete still remembered his real pa, and tried to avenge him, but got shot as well. They couldn' save 'im. He died in da hospital days later, from sepsis. Poor Pete suffered so much, Lord rest his soul.
I couldn' stand da monastery any more. There were still his blood stains on da floor, an' we couldn' clean 'em with nuthin'. Da monks interpreted it as some kind of a miracle an' spread da story that walkin' over 'em cures sickness, to attract da pilgrims... an' their money... an I just couldn' go on there any more. I left, I left as far as I could from that sinful world -- I left into space.
Thanks to that unfortunate event, I became a bit famous, so I got a place as a navy priest on da Yukon. Stayed there for years. Never had many believers, maybe 70 at most, but that wasn' much less than our small ship chapel could take. I did sermons every day, and patiently listened to everyone's confessions. I learned much about da men, da ship, da Navy, an' da society of Liberty in general. An' there was injustice here, too.
Da captain was a good man. He did his job, he was loyal, an' he made sure everyone lived well, so they could do well if a need arises. But his officers were different. Sons of some rich bastards, climbed there more over connections an' bribery than any real merit. Only cared 'bout their own asses, an' that what they sit on is as high as it can be. But I listened. I sit in muh chapel, did sermons, an' listened, for I had many ears, an' they were everywhere.
One day I heard da officers were preparin' a coup on da captain. They wanned to frame 'im, somehow, for some reason. I dunno why, but I couldn' have been good. I spread da word across da ship, informed da captain, an' rose up muh believers. However, da captain didn' seem to believe it, as some of da officers might have whispered some poison into 'is ear. Da marines closed our way, we were surrounded, an' as I didn' want any death, I told everyone to surrender. An' they did. We were all put into da brig, an' it was full. We were charged with mutiny an' awaitin' a transport to take us down to Los Angeles for a court martial. But they didn' all participate in da "mutiny", muh believers. Some stayed out. An' some of those were prison guards. When da time was right, they opened da bars an' let us out, an' we fled with either da onboard fighters, or da escape pods. T'was our luck that da Hellfire Legion made a push into California da next day, an' won a temporary victory. We took refuge with them. I heard that da captain of da Yukon was replaced, but that da ship stayed loyal to da Navy. The man might have wanned to defect, and that's why he didn' suit da officers.
Da Legion finally lost da battle an' their commander, Drake Thastus, was killed. They retreated deep into their desolate system of Vespucci, an' I did along with them. Their morale was low, but it seemed that muh preaching did much to recover it, an' I gained their trust. I got a post aboard the HFB Ravager, an' eventually at Fort Leniex itself.
An' this, oh Lord, is why I speak to you. After muh long service an' experience, I was entrusted with da command of da Dominatrix, a whole dreadnought. Full of good souls. But, a killing machine. You said, oh Lord, "thou shalt not kill", but killed almost every single man, woman an' child in da cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, 'cuz they were sinful. Da good citizens of Liberty are being corrupted by their sinful government. Oh Lord, I intend to sin. But I intend to take the weight of that sin upon me, an' carry it like you carried da Cross, an' save da innocent people from their masters, in whose souls da Snake has made home. Oh Lord, please forgive me for what I am about to do, but if needed be, send me to hell, but know I do it so that everyone else -- can go to Heaven!
In da name of da Father, an' da Son, 'an da Holy Spirit, amen."
The man rises and lifts his chin with newly acquired courage. Around him, perfect silence rules again. He removes his biretta, and replaces it with an admiral's hat.