It isn't just the usual throaty roar of the plane's engine, or the air pressure squeezing my brain like a clamp, that's causing the hammering behind my eyes. It's another thumping disturbing me: the arrhythmia-like kicking of a child's shoes slamming against the back of my economy-class seat.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Mommy, I want a snack! Mommy my Game Boy's out of batteries. Mommy I'm a selfish spoilt prick who is pissing off the man in front of me something rotten, and if I'm not careful he might turn around grab my neck and snap it.

"Penny for your thoughts," says Carl, jovially. He's squashed into the seat next to mine but doesn't care about the lack of legroom. He's just as pleased as punch with the publicity he'll be getting. Maybe for his bar's sake, but I figure it's more for his mom's. Something to make the old bag proud, even if it's just through his lucky circumstances.

I reply, "I was thinking back to when I used to travel by private jet. A silver cabin with walls so padded that it turned the hum of the engine into a sky-high lullaby. Like traveling on a cloud. This... This is like sailing a sewer on a turd."

"Yeah, it ain't the Ritz, that's true, but it's not so bad. Say, Sammy, how long were you with the Storm Guards exactly?"

"The Guards? A couple of years. All my life before that I was being groomed for it, though."

Carl frowns. "Groomed all your life, then left after only a couple of years? They can't have liked that much. Why'd you leave?"

"Reasons," I answer. I don't tell him any though, like finding out I was little more than a puppet for people without 'gifts' but who were far more powerful than any of us. Reasons like that are better kept to myself.

"Well, you might have left the Storms, but I'm telling you that the man I called from the SGB was thrilled to hear you were still alive. Thrilled! Said they hadn't heard from you for a decade or more."

"I had nothing left to say to them."

"That's as maybe, but we wouldn't be on this flight without the SGB's cooperation, to be perfectly frank. Bit of luck that they found two cancellations on the very next flight leaving, don't you think so, Sammy my new friend?"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Luck, right," I say, grabbing a passing stewardess's arm. I doubted it was luck that the Storm Bureau had seats become available. Doubted it was luck they'd chosen for me to make my grand return in an economy can of sardines. They want me groveling, by the time I get there. Well fuck that for a bag of chips.

The stewardess half-heartedly covers her annoyance at being grabbed at, and says, "Can I help you, sir?"

"There aren't any spare seats, perchance, are there lady? I mean, I know the flight's full, but how about the ones reserved for cabin crew or something? I know there are always a few kept back, and my new friend here would be glad to help you see green, if you could get me moved."

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Carl looks puzzled, half glad to be referred to as a friend of a Storm Born, half annoyed to be my walking wallet about to cough out for bribery.

"Full flight, sir."

"Yeah, I know, that's what I said. But--"

"Full. Flight. Sir."

Bitch. I deflate back into my seat.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

That little fucker behind me. I shout after the stewardess, "You do those tiny bottles of spirits on this flight?"

She turns, nods -- pleased to be asked a question she expects -- and spews out a well-recited list. "Brandy, vodka, rum--"

"Five of the brandy. Glass full of ice. Thanks."

"Five?"

I hold up five fingers and put on a wide sardonic smile. "Five. Brandy. On. The. Rocks."

Carl leans over as the exasperated stewardess walks away. He says, nervously, "I only got so much cash out, Sammy, my friend. And drinks on flights can be awfully expensive. Not like back in the bar. You know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I hear you."

"Oh." Concern eases itself into relief, his wrinkled forehead crevices plastering themselves up. "Good. That's great."

"You're saying that you're going to have pay by card."

I can almost hear his wince. He's not been paid a thing yet by the SGB. Just promises -- and there's nothing worth less in the world than a promise. Carl takes out a notepad and begins to write. What he writes exactly, I can't see and don't care.

I pull down the tray from the back of the seat in front of me, and take out the two newspapers I'd found at the airport. One is today's. The other took some rummaging through a few trash cans to acquire: three days old. Its caked with brown and yellow stains, at least on the front, so I scrape off the thicker smears to uncover the headline.

Storm Born Deaths: Bodies of Greg and Pete Pitt recovered

It is a day for lament, not just in the great country of California, but for the world itself, as we are hurting today as a species. This is the earth-shattering news, that the earth-shattering twins, Greg and Pete, are dead. Their contributions to the EasternWestern truce will of course never be forgotten.

The Pitts were two of the most recently born powered individuals to be found, twenty-six years of age. Only one Storm Born has been found in the time since. The twins were last seen at the southern border of the contamination zone, attempting, along with six other Storms, to prevent the spread of the contaminate, and to help evacuate the area. Unfortunately, they went missing in the early hours of yesterday morning. Their bodies were found three kilometers into the no-go zone. What had led them to enter is unknown, and the SGB has thus far made no formal statement about their activities.

Thud. Thud. Thump!

I put the paper down and get up, turning to face the little shit behind me. He's alone, his mother either in the toilets, or else she's done the sensible thing of finding a parachute and abandoning ship.

"What you want?" he asks me abrasively. He can only be ten, but God, what a punchable face, the way his blond fringe overhangs, and how he's chewing and popping gum like it's going out of style.

"You mind not kicking my seat, kid? I'm trying to read."

He smiles, nods, and gives an affected. "Sowwy."

I turn back to my paper, and just about find my place when: Thud. Thud. Thud.

This time, I don't stand, I just turn enough to glare at him through the gap between the seats.

"Sowwy, sowwy!" Then he just laughs, until through tears, he says, "You're so old and stupid!"

And that's it. I take a deep breath then breathe out a stream of pale green gas that twists its way from my mouth to his face. Engulfing him.

For a second, he looks surprised, and that's all, wondering what the hell is happening. Then, as the gas surrounds him, his eyes roll. "I want... My... Mommm." His head falls, lulling onto his shoulder. His eyes close

Maybe I can get some peace, at last. Bring my self up to date with the goings-on properly. I didn't know the Pitt twins, they were after my time, but I doubted they were stupid enough to walk into death totally unprotected.

The stewardess returns with my drinks. Her nose twitches and her faces scrunches up in revolt. For a second, I feel the slightest pang of guilt at releasing my gasses.

It quickly fades.

I nod behind me. "The kid," I say. "I think he's shit himself."