Ultima Ratio

Chapter 42: Specialist Navin Gupta

Navin Gupta was born in Leicester, England, in 2186.

He always had a feeling he was different. No one else seemed to notice just how much detail was in the world around them, or if they did, they managed to ignore it. But no matter how hard he tried, Navin couldn't do that.

He couldn't ignore the chaos of people's faces, from their distracting crisscrossed eyelashes to the cracked lines over their lips. His head would throb at the supermarket where the colorful labels and flurry of shoppers were impossible to make sense of. Even a blank canvas was a world of its own, and every ridge of thread was a distinct shape, catching the light in a unique way.

But even if no one else seemed to see the world like he did, somehow, Jivan understood.

In public, Jivan would always guide him by hand, allowing Navin to keep his head down and eyes closed. If Navin had to choose something, Jivan would recite the options aloud, then listen closely for Navin's muttered response. At home they were just as helpful, putting extra effort into narrating their favorite cartoons as they played on the telly, complete with vibrant exaggerations and animated intonations.

Growing up, Navin had been grateful for Jivan's protectiveness. His older sibling never made Navin feel abnormal or like a nuisance; with Jivan, Navin had been content. It wasn't until he grew older that Navin realized maybe his sharp eyes were looking through rose-colored spectacles.

From what Navin could recall, it started when he was four years old. He didn't remember the exact chain of events. What he did remember was a large, thick hand waving in front of his eyes, the movement creating a dizzying array of colors. He remembered the hand grabbing his orange ice lolly, contorted hairy knuckles hiding the dessert's smooth, pristine surface. He remembered the fist, each popping vein and odd protrusion, squeezing the dessert; he remembered thick bubbly juice seeping out between their twitching fingers.

It was too much to take in. Navin remembered the boiling rage that suddenly engulfed his body, burning him from the inside out. He remembered looking up into an older boy's face, and how their ruffled hair, pink-splotched cheeks, and food-wedged teeth were the last things to break Navin's temper.

He remembered watching the boy cry in pain with a bloody lolly stick protruding from his nose. He remembered seeing his own hands stained red but not knowing how they came to be so.

That was the first time Jivan covered for him, and it wouldn't be the last.

When Navin lashed out at a supermarket advertisement and its painful animation, Jivan was there, apologizing to the workers for roughhousing. At a Diwali festival, another child's light-up spinning toy made Navin's own head spin, but before he realized he stole and ripped it apart, Jivan was already taking the toy and the blame. And when Navin couldn't stand the way hundreds of colorful marigold strands overpowered his eyes at a family wedding, Jivan was quick to usher him to the bathroom to dispose of the orange and yellow petals that littered his new suit, just to apply some to their own attire.

"Oh, beta," their mum would tell Jivan once they returned home and thought Navin was asleep in his room. "You can't protect your brother forever."

Navin knew that as well. He also knew that every time Jivan covered for him, it was at the risk of their own reputation.

Even when they weren't together, Jivan always had his back. Their age difference kept them apart during the school day, and while Navin managed to stay out of trouble at first, that didn't last once he began to tower over his peers. By then, Navin had at least learned to control his instinctive reactions to the chaos around him, and as the other children tried everything they could to make him talk or look at them, Navin kept his head down and fists clenched. While Navin thought he hid his frustrations well, Jivan, as always, noticed.

Navin hadn't thought anything was amiss when Jivan began to immerse themselves in chemistry textbooks. He figured that was simply their latest fixation, after optics and holographics from the months before, and it wouldn't be long before they moved on to something else. The only abnormality was how adamant Jivan was about using only physical books, muttering something about a "digital trail" when their mum questioned why the sitting room smelled like an old library.

Months passed before the mystery was solved. After a particularly rough day at school, Jivan found Navin holed up in his room, trying and failing to shut the world out. With a bit of coaxing, Jivan finally convinced Navin to unclench his fists enough to reveal the fruits of their labor: a dense, metallic ellipsoid about the size of a soap bar.

"It's a smoke bomb," Jivan explained, guiding Navin's hands around the surface of the device. "But with a tad bit of a kick. The next time some ruddy plonker gives you trouble, just close your eyes, throw this on the ground, and make a run for it."

So Navin did. It wasn't even a week later when his peers surrounded him at the edge of the playground, waving their hands in front of his face and asking if he thought he was "too good to play with them." As soon as the device hit the playground floor, a cloud of smoke burst from it, coupled with a loud bang that jolted Navin to his senses. While the other children shielded their eyes from the comforting chai-smelling smoke, Navin slipped out from the crowd, just as Jivan instructed.

At first, Navin worried Jivan would be in trouble for the clearly illegal device, especially when Jivan assured they would take all the blame if it came to that. Luckily, it wasn't necessary, and Navin's peers never bothered him again.

When the war started, Navin was eight years old.

Jivan was sixteen, but the declaration of war suddenly transformed them into an adult. When their mum was sacked, Jivan took it upon themselves to work odd jobs for the extra money, not once complaining about the long hours or hard labor.

Two years later, they enlisted in the UN Army. Their reasoning was to protect their world, their country, and their family.

Even though Navin was only ten years old, he knew the truth; he could see it in Jivan's face when no one else could. They were going because it was the best paying job on the market. They were going because even if they didn't make it home, the money would.

Navin would always remember the day they left. Hundreds of families were scattered across the airfield, each bidding their loved ones farewell with vibrant, handmade signs and bright camera flashes. The scene was pure chaos and filled with everything Navin avoided. But on that day he refused to hide, and he forced himself to absorb every detail of that moment, just in case it would be their last.

Nothing escaped him. He remembered seeing Jivan stand straighter than normal, as if trying to hide that Navin caught up to them in height. He remembered the way Jivan's body trembled and sweated, and how their eyes watered a little more with every hug they gave their inconsolable mum. He remembered how Jivan flinched when they were ordered to board; he remembered how they tensely turned back one last time, along with the stiff, cheeky grin they shot before disappearing into the confines of the aircraft.

As soon as Jivan left, Navin knew he couldn't let them do it alone. Besides, if there was anyone that could excel at watching Jivan's back, it was Navin. After everything Jivan had done for him, now there was finally something Navin could do in return.

He started off small, flicking coins from his fingers and aiming for whatever he could find. It wasn't long before he built a slingshot, but after a couple broken dishes with innocent shrugs in lieu of explanations to his mum, he restricted the weapon's use to his room and lined up his stuffies for target practice. When he was old enough, he worked part-time at a thrift store to help his mum with the bills; secretly, he used his employee discount and the rest of his earnings on an old toy laser gun. Its shots were no stronger than a light static shock, but all he cared about was honing his aim and focus.

While his tools changed over the years, one thing remained constant: whenever he selected a target, he never let it out of his sight until it was down. But that was the easy part; alas, even the best eyes in the world were useless if they got distracted.

That was the only reason he agreed with his mum to attend therapy. With just the two of them in their downsized loft, it was impossible for his mum not to notice his agitation after a rough day at school, or when he could barely open his eyes to eat the array of colors and textures on his plate. His mum hoped he would learn to regulate his emotions in a healthy manner; Navin hoped to do so to pass the military examinations. In the end, both their wishes came true.

Navin enlisted in the UN Army when he was eighteen years old.