With a live baby fairy in her arms-her body had protected it; it doesn't appear to have been hurt at all.
That's why I think she went back to the house. I don't know that this baby fairy is the one she called "Ariel." It could have been one that she picked up in the bush. But that doesn't seem at all likely; a wild one would have clawed her and its parents would have torn her to pieces.
I think she intended to save that baby fairy all along and decided not to mention it to me. It is just the kind of sentimental stunt that Poddy would pull. She knew I was going to have to kill the adult-and she never said a word against that; Pod could always be sensible when absolutely necessary.
Then in the excitement of breaking out she forgot to grab it, just as I forgot to disarm the bomb after we no longer needed it. So she went back for it.
And lost the inertial tracker, somehow. At least it wasn't found on her or near her. Between the gun and her purse and the baby fairy and the tracker she must have dropped it in the bog. Must be, because she had plenty of time to go back and still get far away from the house. She should have been ten kilometers away by then, so she must have lost the tracker fairly soon and walked in a circle.
I told Uncle Tom all about it and was ready to tell the Corporation people, Mr. Cunha and so forth, and take my medicine. But Uncle told me to keep my mouth shut. He agreed that I had fubbed it, mighty dry indeed-but so had he-and so had everybody. He was gentle with me. I wish he had hit me.
I'm sorry about Poddy. She gave me some trouble from time to time, with her bossy ways and her illogical ideas-but just the same, I'm sorry.
I wish I knew how to cry.
Her little recorder was still in her purse and part of the tape could be read. Doesn't mean much, though;
she doesn't tell what she did, she was babbling, sort of:
very dark where I'm going. No man is an island complete in himself. Remember that; it's important. They all have to be cuddled sometimes. My shoulder- Saint Podkayne! Saint Podkayne, are you listening? Unka Tom, Mother, Daddy-is anybody listening? Do listen, please, because this is important. I love-"
It cuts off there. So we don't know whom she loved. Everybody, maybe.
I'm alone here, now. Mr. Cunha made them hold the Tnicorn until it was certain whether Poddy would die or get well, then Uncle Tom left and left me behind-alone, that is, except for doctors, and nurses, and Dexter Cunha hanging around all the time, and a whole platoon of guards. I can't go anywhere without one. I can't go to the casinos at all any more-not that I want to, much.
I heard part of what Uncle Tom told Dad about it. Not all of it, as a phone conversation with a bounce time of over twenty minutes is episodic. I heard none of what Dad said and only one monologue of Uncle's:
"Nonsense, sir! I am not dodging my own load of guilt; it will be with me always. Nor can I wait here until you arrive and you know it and you know why- and both children will be safer in Mr. Cunha's hands and not close to me ... and you know that, too! But I have a message for you, sir, one that you should pass on to your wife. Just this: people who will not take the trouble to raise children should not have them. You with your nose always in a book, your wife gallivanting off God knows where-between you, your daughter was almost killed. No credit to either of you that she wasn't. Just blind luck. You should tell your wife, sir, that building bridges and space stations and such gadgets is all very well ... but that a woman has more
important work to do. I tried to suggest this to you years ago... and was told to mind my own business. Now I am saying it. Your daughter will get well, no thanks to either of you. But I have my doubts about Clark. With him it may be too late. God may give you a second chance if you hurry. Ending transmission!"
I faded into - the woodwork then and didn't get caught. But what did Uncle Tom mean by that-hying to scare Dad about me? I wasn't hurt at all and he knows it. I just got a load of mud on me, not even a burn ... whereas Poddy still looks like a corpse and they've ~ot her piped and wired like a crèche.
I don t see what he was driving at.
I'm taking care of that baby fairy because Poddy will want to see it when she gets well enough to notice things again; she's always been a sentimentalist. It needs a lot of attention because it gets lonely and has to be held and cuddled, or it cries.
So I'm up a lot in the night-I guess it thinks I'm its mother. I don't mind, I don't have much else to do.
It seems to like me.