The Mausoleum of Don Lao

Tom Lao remembered running, through corridors where everyone scattered ahead of her. The awful thrumming of the dead ship's motors mingling with the high-pitched wine of the hunt's gliders. This time there was a wine that still echoed in her nightmares. And the distant shadows of gliders getting closer and closer. She tried to push Gong away, but the child had resisted,. and really she couldn't. It was too late for either of them. Tom Lao stumbled by one of the gliders buried itself into the wall instead of her. Light crackled on its edges, tightening as if something of it were welcoming herself back. 'Come on,' she screamed again