I fell asleep at some point— half exhaustion, half the lingering affects of whatever that foul-tasting concoction he had me drink was. When I woke up my head still hurt but it was mild in comparison and I was actually able to think straight.

  I spent the next God knew how long, shouting until my voice was hoarse.

  I tried my hands— thirty times, fifty times, a hundred times?— but it was no use. They were pinned back, wrapped around a big tree (I now had the sense to know it was a tree). In the dark I could make out the wide branches and the strange leaves. A bit like palm leaves but their arrangement were unlike any palm.

  It was strange. Everything was so alien, like the branches zigzagged and rose at strange angles unlike any tree I’ve ever seen, yet, they were also familiar, clearly a tree— or a descendant of a tree.

  Like the banana light plants, apparently these trees didn’t require sunshine as a requirement to live.

  I licked my lips. I was thirsty and most likely dehydrated. Probably the main reason my head still hurt. I remembered all that I had vomited out. I was definitely in need of liquids.

  I was sitting on the ground, my legs splayed out over roots and stones. Cal hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to make things comfortable for me.

  I stretched my back. Bones cracked. My neck, shoulders, upper back— all of it— stiff as hell. I stood, by driving my back into the tree and pushed myself up. Several other bones popped and cracked on the way up.

  I remembered how I thought it would have been a form of torture to be locked in one of those huts back at the waterfall, where the sound was so loud it would probably drive you insane. But just not being able to freely move my arms was a new form of torture that I hadn’t even considered. I would happily trade places in a locked cell next to that roaring waterfall in a heartbeat if it meant I could move my arms.

  I listened to see if I could hear the waterfall and realized then I heard other things. The sound of insects, something croaking. The chattering of some animal high overhead. Would dragons chatter? I didn’t think so. Again, I wondered what things out there could kill me. Hadn’t Cal said it was a, pretty place, but dangerous?

  So far the most dangerous thing had been Cal and I wondered if anything he had said could be trusted.

  I fell back into listening to the sounds around me. It was the only pleasant thing about my current predicament.

  For a birthday present— probably four or five years ago now— Jules had gotten me a recording called, “Sounds of the Amazon”. And it sounded damn close to this. Even the swishing of the trees. I fell asleep listening to that recording a hundred times. I felt the cool breeze on my face then. This place had its own climate?

  That’s good information, I thought and smiled. Even with all this shit, that little memory still made me smile.

  “That’s good information,” had been one of Cho’s catchphrases. I couldn’t remember the last time I heard her say it. Maybe she dropped it a year or two ago, or maybe (and most likely) I just haven’t been around her enough to hear it.

  A few years back I had a crush on her— before I knew she and Reynolds were a thing. She had this habit of ending conversations with it. Like how some people, after you tell them some story, they’d respond with interesting, or that’s neat. Or, if you tell a funny story, they’d say, that’s funny. Just those little nothing phrases used to fill in the silence, to say, I heard you. Cho’s was, “that’s good information.”

  I remembered the first time I heard it, it was at dinner, shortly after she got hired on. We were off on some salvage mission (shocking, I know) and she said it that night at the table. I didn’t remember the conversation, just her saying it. And then she said it a second time, a third, and from there on it was just something she was known to say.

  I thought of us all around the table. The Captain was either Kancharla, or that tall guy that a constant puckered face, like he ate too many sour candies (we’ve been through a lot of captains). But the core crew were there: Buzz, Gilley, Jules, Reynolds, Rondo, Lucy1 (just Lucy then), Me. And Cho. We used to have meals around the table a couple times a week. I wondered when we stopped that.

  I’d been on a few other crews in my career. Met some real assholes too, but not this crew. This crew ended up nearly family. We were lucky like that.

  I tried to imagine the biggest asshole in our current crew. Petrov came to mind, but I didn’t think anyone else felt that way but me.

  Fuck, I thought. I might be the big asshole.

  (That’s good information.)

  I shook my head. “Thanks, Cho.”

  I wondered about the rest of my crew then. Wondered where they were. Were they all together and safe? Had Gilley, who went out with me, did he make it back to the ship? And Buzz? Did they find him, or had he just simply wandered back and I was the only idiot missing?

  I wondered about the state of the ship and if they’ve been able to upright it. I didn’t think they’d abandon me, but still I wondered.

  I thought of Petrov and for the first time ever I wish I had listened to him. Though I suppose if I had found Buzz all this would have played out differently and I would have still thought Petrov was a giant prick. But I hadn’t found Buzz. Instead I found a madman and I was tied up around a tree.

  (That’s good information.)

  Was Jules at the comms still trying to reach me? I’d bet my whole paycheck that she was. And would Lieutenant Cal Richard, that crazy bastard, take my comms unit that was in my helmet back up to the surface and radio the ship?

  “Hey there,” he would say. “I found your friend Candy. John Candy I think he told me his name was, like that old timey actor. He’s awfully hurt. I’ve got him all patched up but he can’t quite walk right now. No, no don’t be alarmed. He’s safe. I can take you to him.”

  And then what? Could Cal take out the whole ship? He was trained military and resourceful, I knew that. And crazy.

  (That’s good information.)

  I repositioned myself. I had a cramp in my arm. I moved it and it yanked my other arm even further back. The more I moved one arm, the less movement I had in the other. Apparently my arms were tied together on one big rope around the tree. I knew this already, or assumed it, I guess.

  (That’s good information.)

  “Yeah, yeah.” I muttered. It seemed my mind was stuck in a loop of saying, that’s good information.

  Alright, Cho, I thought, what was so good about being tied to a tree?

  (That’s good information.)

  How is it good information?

  (That’s good information.)

  Is that all you can say?

  (That’s good information.)

  I sighed. Apparently that was all the voice in my head could say.

  The torches Cal had setup were just small flames, no bigger than the flames of the candles back at the hut. Time has passed, clearly, but I had no way of telling from the size of the flames just how much time had passed.

  “Is this good information?” I said aloud.

  No response from the voice in my head.

  “I’m tied around a tree,” I said. “But that’s still good information?”

  That’s good information, the voice agreed.

  I’m tied around a tree, I repeated.

  (That’s good information.)

  “Okay, I hear you.”

  (That’s good information.)

  “It’s good information, that I hear you?”

  (That’s good information.)

  “Fuck,” I said. “I’m going crazy.”

  No response.

  I really did wonder if I was going crazy. It was a thought in regards that it didn’t exist outside of my head, but something about the thought felt different. Some physicality, even though thoughts don’t have any physical aspects about them.

  My head still hurt and I didn’t want to think about my spiraling demise into insanity.

  The thought simply had a quality that was different than all the other thoughts I had in my head. I’m not sure I can describe it any more than that.

  A shiver ran through me.

  “If you’re just one of my stupid old thoughts,” I said to the jungle, “give me, that’s good information.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I looked around the dimly lit encampment. Listened. Nothing but that chattering overhead.

  I swallowed.

  “If you’re real— not one of my thoughts— give me, that’s good information.”

  (That’s good information.)

  “You’re real?” I breathed. “I mean, you’re really listening to me?”

  (That’s good information.)

  “Holy fuck!” I shouted wincing at the sound of my own voice.

  Be cool, Candy, I thought. Just be cool.

  (That’s good information.)

  I’m insane, I thought. That fucking drink Cal gave me. It must have been a hallucinogen or something.

  I waited for the response and when none came I said, in my mind, you can hear my thoughts?

  (That’s good information.)

  Another shiver ran through me. This was creepy. Then aloud I said, “And you can hear me?”

  (That’s good information.)

  I still wasn’t sure I wasn’t making it all up in my head. I mean this was impossible wasn’t it?

  “So what are you? Some telepath?”

  (That’s good information.)

  I shook my head. This wasn’t real. Just the ramblings of a madman. You know who would have loved this though? Buzz. Buzz loved all that weird hippy-dippy shit.

  “Do you know where Buzz is?” I asked.

  Silence.

  Even my insanity didn’t want to help me.

  This was a waste of time. I should have been thinking up ways to escape.

  (That’s good information.)

  This was annoying. Not only was I tied to a tree, but now I had these obtrusive thoughts. A full day of this and I’d be as bat shit crazy as Cal. Putting on tin foil hats and—

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. “Cal was wearing that weird fucking helmet so you couldn’t read his mind?”

  (That’s good information. That’s good information. That’s good information.)

  These thoughts made me wince. It was like shoving a full-blast water hose up my nose.

  “Whoa, okay.” It either really liked that I realized why Cal wore that weird helmet, or three that’s good informations meant something entirely different. I assumed it was the first.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “Where are you?”

  No response.

  “You can only respond with that’s good information?”

  (That’s good information.)

  “That’s fucking wild.”

  I set my head back on the tree. And thought what to ask it. It was like that game twenty questions I used to play with my sister ages ago.

  “You’re real?” I asked, knowing I already asked it this question.

  (That’s good information.)

  “Like real-real? Can I see you?”

  (That’s good information.)

  I looked around the dying flame-light. “Can you see me?”

  Silence.

  “I can see you, but you can’t see me? You’re blind?”

  Silence.

  “You’re not blind?”

  (That’s good information.)

  But you can’t see me?

  (That’s good information.)

  What the hell does that mean?

  Again, silence.

  “You’re real. And I can see you.”

  (That’s good information.)

  “Can I see you right now?”

  No response.

  “Ah,” I said. “We can’t see each other from where we’re currently standing?” I said it more to myself but right on cue came another triplets of that’s good information, again making my eyes water.

  I wondered if Cal was out there, hiding just beyond the flame light seeing me go on, talking to myself. It was a little early to start hearing things, I thought.

  I decided to stop talking and just think my questions. Just in case Cal was listening.

  And Cal knows about you?

  (That’s good information.)

  Something about that last one was different. Was there a little sadness in it?

  (That’s good information.)

  You are sad?

  (That’s good information.)

  Because you’re also a captive?

  Another sad, that’s good information.

  And that helmet he made. You can’t talk to him when he has that on?

  (That’s good information.)

  Just like Magneto.

  (That’s good information.)

  And your like Professor Xavier? Can you read my thoughts?

  (That’s good information.)

  “Wow,” I breathed. This was pretty heavy.

  Can you make things float? Like levitate things with your mind? I wondered.

  No response.

  I decided to switch topics. When you say, that’s good information, is that a yes?

  (That’s good information.)

  I realized immediately that didn’t really tell me anything. It could be a no and I’d get the same response. I needed a sure yes.

  I’m tied up, I thought. Do you agree?

  (That’s good information.)

  Cal has two arms.

  Silence.

  Cal has one arm.

  (That’s good information.)

  Blueboy is red.

  Silence.

  Okay, so that’s good information is yes and silence is a no.

  (That’s good information.)

  You’re real and I’m not crazy.

  Silence.

  Then, after a long pause came the that’s good information.

  “Dude, what the hell?”

  Did I catch a little humor in that response?

  (That’s good information.)

  I understood why Cal made the helmet.

  I swallowed. My throat was dry. What I would do for a glass of water.

  Can you talk? I wondered. Do you have a voice? Can you makes some noise so I can hear you?

  No response.

  Only telepathy?

  (That’s good information.)

  And all you can say is that’s good information?

  (That’s good information.)

  Why?

  Silence.

  Instead of words, can you send me an image?

  Silence.

  This telepathy stuff kinda sucks.

  (That’s good information.)

  “Sorry,” I whispered. I hadn’t meant for them to hear that.

  In the meantime I’d have to be content with binary language. Just like a computer, simple ones and zeros, on and off, that’s good information and silence.

  The English language is kinda fucked up too, I thought. Most our words have multiple meanings.

  The breeze picked up a little and the wind felt good on my skin.

  Do you know how to get out here? I wondered. How to escape?

  (That’s good information. That’s good information. That’s good information.)

  Dude, I thought, You’re going to fry my brain doing that. I really did wonder what exactly it could do to my brain.

  Okay, I thought. You know how to escape. But you haven’t yet?

  (That’s good information.)

  Why not? I wondered. It only took me a second. Because you need me to help you?

  (That’s good information.)

  I could sense the restraint in that thought. It totally wanted to give me that wasabi triplet.

  I moved my arms and again, one arm tightened while the other got more range of movement.

  That’s good information.

  Yes to what? I wondered. That I can barely move my arms?

  Another restrained, that’s good information.

  I can barely move my arms, I thought. I can move them… but barely. Then I realized it. “Candy, you idiot,” I moaned. “you can move.”

  There was no restraint in the response. I thought my head was going to burst with that’s good informations.

  “Okay, okay!” I cried.

  When I regained my composure, or I guess when the telepath regained their own composure, I was able to think straight again. My hands were tied together around the tree but, I could move around the trunk. I was tied pretty tight around the tree, but not so tight that I couldn’t sidestep around the trunk. I moved all while it’s good information blared happily in my head.

  Okay, I thought, just tell me when you see me.

  The chatter in my head ceased and rounded the tree.

  On the other side of the tree came the that’s good information. I stopped. There was no torches on this side of the tree. Besides the few blue banana plant lights— and these were of a smaller variety— giving off minimal light I could barely make out much. More trees. More growth.

  I know you can’t talk, I thought. But can you make some noise?

  I heard the sound of something shifting on a tree in front me. I moved my own arms and the rope moving across the tree sounded similar. I peered into the darkness at the tree in front me. I thought maybe I could see something there.

  I swallowed. You’re not human? I suspected this already, but still I asked it.

  (That’s good information.)

  I remembered that strange looking pod that was by Rondo’s probes, Bull and Moose. The pod that looked like a giant pea pod.

  Was that your pod? The way you got here?

  (That’s good information.)

  “I’m Candy,” I said. “I guess you already know that, huh?”

  (That’s good information.)