Explain It to Me Like I’m Five
Posted on Sun Jun 14, 2026 @ 3:34am by Lieutenant Bronwyn P’ril & Lieutenant JG Anson Lee
1,365 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
Jubilee
Timeline: MD02
Anson tracked P’ril down when they were both on lunch break. He slid into the seat across from her and asked “Am I the most illogical human you’ve ever met?”
P’ril blinked at the sudden, blunt question. Where had that come from? But if she knew anything about people in general, she was sure she would eventually find out. “I do not believe there is any such thing,” she replied. “Humans are all equally illogical. However, if you were not, you would not be humans. And I quite like humans as they are.”
Anson drummed his fingers on the table. “See, that’s what I always thought. But the counselor keeps saying I’m being illogical and making a big deal out of it. It’s weird.”
P’ril allowed him half a grin for half a moment. “Probably because you are,” she replied. “And she IS the counselor, after all. It is her job to analyze.”
“Illogical, sure. But the most illogical? That seems excessive.” Anson rested his chin in one hand. “If she wants to see real heights of illogical, she can come supervise the drunk tank during night shift. Besides, I never asked her to analyze my logic, so I don’t see how it’s any of her business.”
“She is likely very interested in how humans function with so little logic,” P’ril told him. “I half human, was raised among them, and still do not understand it. Even when I myself am illogical, I cannot say why. It is a fascinating subject of study.”
“Then why is she so fixated on me? I didn’t consent to being dissected like a bug.” Anson made a motion with his free hand, like plucking the wings off a fly. “If humans are all so illogical, why can’t she bother some of them, instead of me?”
“Perhaps she finds you most agreeable,” suggested P’ril, “or easiest to understand. Or perhaps your responses fascinate her. It could be any number of reasons. Have you asked her?”
"Of course I asked. That’s when she insisted I was the most illogical human she’d ever met and decided I was her study subject and now she won’t leave me alone and it’s a little freaky.” It all came out in a single rush without pause for breath.
"I would guess that you fascinate her," P'ril replied. "As humans are fond of saying, humor her. You may learn something about yourself in the process."
“I don't want to be fascinating. I want to be left alone so I can do my job without looking over my shoulder every five minutes.” Anson folded his arms on the table and rested his head atop them. Speaking to the flat surface, he asked, “What did I do to deserve this?”
P’ril afforded the top of his head a half smile. “You were fascinating,” she answered. “Humor her. She will grow bored eventually.”
Anson huffed, his cheeks puffing out. “I can’t spend all my time looking over my shoulder, worrying she’s going to pop up and question me. How do I get really boring, really fast?”
“So do not worry about it,” P’ril replied. “And when she shows up, answer her questions thoroughly and politely. Celebrities do this with mildly obsessed fans to great effect. Their curiosity is satisfied and they get bored.”
“You’re not being helpful. Why aren’t you being helpful?” Anson put on an exaggerated pout. “I thought we were friends. But you’re going to leave me to be picked apart by the counseling vultures, because you’ve clearly forgotten the part where sometimes celebrities are murdered by their obsessed fans.”
“That is why I said mildly obsessed,” she pointed out. “Do not think of her as a vulture; think of her as a cat. She is curious and means no harm.”
Anson scowled. "No such thing as mild obsession. If she's a cat, she's just toying with me like a mouse, and how it that any better? Seriously, don't you have anything to help? What's the cure of Vulcans who lose their grasp on logic?"
“I do not know,” replied P’ril. “I was raised among humans. Regardless, to her, this is perfectly logical. She wishes to understand humans better, so she has chosen the humanest human who ever humaned.”
“That is not a thing. You just made that up.” Anson whined, a pathetic, high-pitched sound at the back of his throat. “Why is the universe punishing me? I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. Ever.” He considered for a moment. “I mean, nothing seriously wrong. No one’s perfect.”
“Perhaps the universe is not punishing you, but strengthening you,” P’ril offered. “Perhaps something far worse is on its way to tax your patience and this will prepare you for it.”
Anson would have slapped a hand over her mouth if not for the whole Vulcan thing.
“Don’t say that,” he hissed. “Are you trying to make the station fall down around our ears?”
Maybe it was superstitious nonsense, but there was no reason to risk it.
“At least,” said P’ril with a half grin, “I did not say the Q word.”
He gave her a stern look and pointed a finger at her face. "The next thing that blows up is on you, not me. I want that on the record."
Anson regarded her for a moment and said, "And what's up with you and this Alex guy?"
P’ril blinked in surprise. The change of subject was rather abrupt and the subject was unexpected. She didn’t quite know how to answer the question, either. “He and I have been on exactly two dates,” she finally replied. “And the first was interrupted by Alpacas, so I am not certain it counts as a date. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m Security, and gossip is basically a professional skill.” He grinned and put a finger to his lips. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone.”
She afforded him half a grin for half a moment. “I suppose it would have to be,” she admitted, “but, did you want to know for the purpose of spreading said gossip or because you heard it and were curious? Because I could give you more gossip on the subject to spread if you would like.”
"I'm more in the collecting than the spreading business," Anson said. "People tend not to tell you things if you're known for blabbing their business everywhere you go."
“What is the point in collecting it if not to share it?” she asked, head cocked slightly to one side.
“To hoard it like gold-pressed latinum and corner the market,” Anson said. “And, you know, keeping my ears out for anything that helps Security.”
“And my personal relationship is obviously of extreme importance to station security,” she replied, just a hint of cheek in her voice.
Anson fought to keep his face serious, with only some success. "Yes. You never know who might use the chief engineer as an in to sabotage the station."
The corner of his mouth quirked, despite his efforts to keep it still.
P’ril almost laughed out loud at that, but managed to rein it in to a small smile. “And an enlisted medic might just be that sort of person,” she replied, tongue lodged firmly in cheek.
“It’s the perfect cover. Who would ever suspect a medic?” Anson sighed. “I should get back to work. And practice being a very boring, very logical human.”
“Why would you ever want to do that?” P’ril teased.
Anson's expression went flat. "If I end up skinned for a couch, I will haunt you for the rest of your life."
“My very own personal ghost,” deadpanned P’ril. “Just what every girl wants.”
"I will keep that in mind." Anson stood. "Enjoy the rest of your lunch. Sorry for interrupting."
“It was no trouble,” P’ril reassured him, adding a nod of respect.
Lt. Jr Anson Lee
Asst. Chief of Security
Deep Space 5
Lieutenant Bronwyn P’ril
Chief Engineer
Deep Space 5
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