I hate flying.

The seatbelt sign had only been off for five minutes or so when a few rows in front of me a man with a shaved head got up, walked into the centre aisle and pulled out a handgun.

People around him screamed.

“Heads down, now!” he shouted at them in a voice that sounded more used to speaking in Russian. “We are taking over this plane! Heads down now or I shoot!”

The screams muffled as people did what he said and put their heads between their knees. Some of the screams turned into whimpering sobs.

I really hate flying, I thought again as I joined them and got my head down. This is not helping my anxiety.

“Oh God!” said the woman across the aisle from me. “This can’t be happening!”

“I’m not ready to die yet!” said the man to my left, clutching his head.

I took a deep breath, then turned to look at him.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “everything's going to be alright.”

The worst had happened. But now that it had happened, there was no point in worrying about it any more. It was time to do something. It was time to take action.

I undid my seatbelt, stood up and walked out into the aisle.

Several passengers screamed again when I appeared there. I could see that many of them were texting hysterically out of view. Most of their faces were wet with tears.

“What are you doing?” said the terrorist when he saw me, turning his gun on my chest.

He wore jeans and a white t-shirt like a regular traveler except that he carried a small grey handgun which he had somehow managed to smuggle or assemble on board the plane. “Back in your seat, head down, now!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said to him, just about keeping the quiver out of my voice. Keep it together, Gonzalo. I summoned my bravest, boldest tones. “On behalf of the international community and everyone on this plane, I order you to surrender your weapon to me.”

“What is this?” said the terrorist, his chunky brow knotting. He laughed. “Are you out of your mind? Do you have death wish? Sit down or I will shoot you!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said. “You could cause explosive decompression and suffocate everyone on the plane.” I learned that in Physics class.

“Do not test me, little boy! I am not afraid to shoot! This plane is going down either way!”

Having exhausted my nonviolent negotiation strategies at least to a defensible degree, I moved towards the man and, to his credit, he followed through on his promise and fired at me three times.

Two of the bullets bounced off my jacket because underneath it they met the resistance of my body.

They stung quite a lot, though; I never enjoy being shot. And they left two little nicks in my jacket where they pierced it before falling off me and dropping to the floor.

The third bullet hit me in the cheek, but that one bounced off as well, pinging onto the aisle carpet.

I still flinch when I’m shot at, though there’s no reason for me to. I guess old habits die hard.

The man stopped shooting. The other passengers were still screaming, even more loudly than before. But then after a few seconds everyone went quiet, the terrorist included.

Wide eyes gawked at me. Only a couple of babies continued to wail.

I glanced down at the nicks in my clothing and sighed. “I’m going to have to replace this, you know. That’s my third jacket this week.”

“Wh-what are you?” said the man. A sensible question, I supposed, given the circumstances.

I took advantage of his confusion to take hold of his gun and scrunch it up into scrap metal in my hand. It made a wonderful snapping noise as I twisted it into a useless lump.

The man was trembling now and perspiration was pouring from his shiny head. I realised I still hadn’t answered his question.

“A miracle,” I said.

I flicked him on his chest with a finger and he shot backwards down the aisle from the force of my touch, bouncing off the door to the passenger toilets and landing unconscious in a heap.

After a moment of shocked silence, the passengers around me broke out into cheers and applause. I looked around at them awkwardly, not knowing what to do with my hands or where to put the scrunched-up gun, as they whooped and punched the air and cried more tears, I assumed now of relief.

“Thank you for saving us!” said the blonde woman who had been sitting across the aisle from me, her face beaming.

“Er...no problem...” I said. This was one of the best parts of my job, but I still wasn’t quite used to it.

{I’ve neutralised a hostile in row F,} I thought. I thought it, I didn’t say it, because Mute should have us all connected into the mind-link by now.

{I’ve neutralised a hostile too, just a little more covertly,} came the self-assured, feminine voice of Djinn inside my head. It took a bit of getting used to, but once you were acclimatised to it the mind-link really was the most efficient way to communicate.

{All clear here for me,} said Mute. {There’s nobod--wait! Watch out!}

There was a massive jolt as the plane lurched violently to one side for a moment and then straightened out again with a wobble. I fell on my ass. Several people were sent staggering into their seats and some of the baggage compartments came open.

Orange oxygen masks dropped down from their hiding places above people’s heads. I didn’t know if they had been triggered automatically or if someone had released them on purpose.

The screaming started again, the loudest yet. I covered my mouth against the puke rising from my stomach.

And just like that, for the third time that week, I was in free-fall.

Did I mention I hate flying?