Modern Inheritance: Two for Flinching

(A/N: Some wound description and technically self harm? {wound burning for infection control}, so warnings for that. Just some Eragon and co. during the run to the Varden. This one actually has a bit more setup for Eragon’s book 1/early book 2 characterization, but I’m not sure how I did. He’s hard for me to write. There’s also quite a few mentions of tech and magic mechanics that I’ve worked into MIC, but those will be mentioned more in the tags.)

~~~

Eragon winced as Saphira landed. Per their usual travel plans since Gil'ead and Arya’s awakening he had spent the night flying with Saphira while the others traveled at a continued breakneck pace on the ground with the horses. It was wearing them all down, even Saphira, and the few hours of sleep they managed to get during the daylight hours did little to alleviate the stress travel was putting on their bodies.

Camp was already in the midst of being set as Eragon untied his legs from the saddle and slid down Saphira’s side. He landed then grimaced as he fell to his knees, muscles feeling like jelly.

“Did you see anything worth mentioning?” Brom asked as the young Rider pushed himself up. When he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak aloud, the older man grunted and turned back to unsaddling Snowfire. “There’s supposed to be some old, ruined staging points of the Varden’s around here. Must be further up ahead. We’re going slower than I thought.”

“We’re going as fast as we can.” Murtagh snapped. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Lately Eragon had noticed that the other youth was becoming increasingly agitated, quick to anger, and it wasn’t just the lack of sleep and lingering sunburn getting to him.“If you want to warn the Varden so bad, do some of your little magic tricks and tell them about the Urgals.”

Arya spoke quickly from where she crouched coaxing the fire to life, cutting off Brom’s scathing retort and ending the argument before it began. “It doesn’t exactly work like that. Besides, the Varden has specific wards around their strongholds, preventing scrying and other magical forms of communication.”

Eragon eased himself down next to the elf, trying to warm fingers stiff from flying so high in the chill clouds. “Then how do they stay in contact with you and anyone else outside their hiding spots? It seems dangerous to be so isolated.”

The woman gently rearranged a few sticks to give the young flames more air and slipped a dark object under the growing pile of embers. “Special radios were developed, using the fingerprint technology similar to lock on my backpack. Mine was destroyed when Durza tried to operate it himself.” She cracked a slight grin, still focused on her task. “Well, actually, it blew up in his face. Brain matter, just everywhere. Huh-hoo, he was pissed when he got back.”

“The Varden rigs them to explode if the person’s fingerprint doesn’t match?!” Eragon recoiled slightly, agast. “What if someone’s kid found it and thought it was a toy?”

Off to the side, Brom snorted, muttering, “I bet it wasn’t the Varden who–”

“No, I rigged it up myself, and only for those who bore ill-will to the Varden and free races in case it fell into the wrong hands.”

“Knew it.” Brom scoffed. Arya looked over her shoulder to the old Rider and rolled her eyes. “You just like seeing things explode.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in years than when that thing went off. I think I even cracked a rib.”

Brom shook his head, but let the matter go.

It wasn’t long before the fire was high and the day’s meal heated. They sat around the burning logs, Saphira even laying her head down to occupy a third of the circle, and planned the next few legs of travel. When the food was eaten, the talk dwindled away as they all sat staring into the flames, tired but not willing to sleep just yet.

Then Saphira flicked out her tongue, as if tasting the air, and projected her thoughts to the group.

‘Whoever has the infected wound should care for it soon.’ Everyone looked up, mildly startled out of their inner musings. 'It will turn into a deep-rot in another day or so. Just thought they should know.’

“You can smell things like that?” Eragon asked, surprised. “Are you like one of those dogs that can smell cancer?”

The dragon cut her eyes at him and her lip lifted slightly. 'I am nothing like a dog.’

The boy smiled apologetically, realizing his mistake. “I know. Sorry. But it’s pretty cool being able to smell things like that.”

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. “Aye, it’s cool. But shouldn’t we be more focused on who the hell was hiding a possibly necrotic wound? Things like that need to be addressed. It would only slow us down more.”

Then a ringing SMACK! broke through the air as Brom suddenly slapped Arya upside the head. Hard.

“What the hell were you thinking, girl?” He growled, expression dark.

“Ow! Hey, why the fuck do you think it’s me?!” The elf retorted sharply, rubbing the back of her head and glaring back at him.

Everyone, even Saphira, gave the woman a deadpan look that clearly asked 'really?’

She put her hands up. “Alright, alright, so yeah, maybe a cut or two got infected, but I’m already fixing them, okay?” Arya snarled, pointing at the handle of a knife sticking out of the dying fire’s thick pile of coals.

Silence fell.

“Are you sure that is the best idea?” Brom asked slowly. He seemed to have calmed down a bit now that Arya had revealed having an actual plan and wasn’t just ignoring her injuries. His change in tone made Eragon wonder if the latter was a common occurrence. “There’s always magic. You don’t have to–”

“And who, exactly, would cast it, hm? Eragon? Can you instruct him in the intricacies of infection cleansing within the next few minutes? I’ve still got enough drug in me to complicate healing spells, so that’s out of the question. And I’ll not have you working spells on me, not when the Varden will need you at your best.” Arya shook her head. “No, it will have to be burned.”

Murtagh stood at the mention of burning. “Oh, bloody hell. Not right after we ate!” He retreated to where he had tossed his saddlebags and began unrolling his sleeping bag. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again– you’re bloody insane, Arya. I don’t want to see this. I’m going to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams, Murtagh.” The elf called after him in a singsong voice. “Don’t let the sizzling wake you up!” The young man let out a noise of disgust and threw himself on the blankets. “Wuss.”

'She can’t be serious about this!’ Eragon exclaimed to Saphira, worried about the elf who was unlacing her boots as calmly as a praying monk. 'She’s already hurt enough! We should offer to heal it. I know she shot Brom down, but–’

Saphira cut him off. 'Little one, do you honestly think that we know enough about healing to cleanse even a scratch of infection without making it worse? Brom has explained before that waíse heill has its limitations, one of the most dangerous being that if it closes an infected injury the infection will survive beneath the skin.’ Eragon grimaced, cursing himself for nearly forgetting one of the nuances of the spell. 'Once the infected flesh is burned away, thenwe can attempt to heal it for Arya.’

Her logic was sound. 'I still don’t like it. But you’re right.’

The dragon sniffed, a short puff of smoke dissipating into the air above her nostrils. 'Of course I am.’

Eragon grinned, then turned his attention back to where Brom and Arya still sat by the fire as the older Rider grunted, “That looks like it hurt. You’re lucky it didn’t break.” The boy approached them as Arya finished rolling her pant leg up to her knee.

“Perks of elvish bones, I guess.” Arya muttered, gently testing the skin around the injury. On the outside of her left calf was a nasty, scraping gash, most likely left by the sharp edge of a hobnailed boot if the bruising pattern was anything to go by. The skin around the ragged edges was pink and red, and cracks ran through the roughly palm sized scab covering the cut and revealing damp, yellowish flesh beneath. Pinkish, yellow tinged fluid leaked from the cracks. “Damn. At least it isn’t necrotic. You were right, Saphira. This one is about to turn.” The elf flashed a thankful smile to the dragon. “Hell, you might have just saved my leg.”

'You’re quite welcome.’

Eragon winced when he saw the wound. “After you, uh…burn it, I can close it for you. A burn isn’t too hard to heal, and it would keep it from getting infected again and slowing you down.”

For a for a split second the memory of healing the elf’s back jumped to the forefront of his mind. Not images of the horrifying wounds, but of warm skin, lean muscle and an unmistakably feminine body. Eragon felt the tips of his tapering ears turn bright red, and he quickly stuck his hands in his pockets, pinching himself hard through the fabric. It was definitely not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

He was thankful, then, that Arya looked over to Brom after giving him only a quick glance. “What do you think, old man? I can keep up well enough. Wouldn’t mind a little less risk of that changing though.”

Brom crossed his arms. “It’s up to the boy and Saphira. Do you two think you can handle it?”

Eragon nodded firmly. “I’m sure I can. Definitely if Saphira helps. I really don’t mind it, and it’s the least I can do after being unable to heal the rest of your wounds properly.”

“Hey, you and Saphira don’t owe me anything. You saved my life in probably three different ways so far, so I’m the one that owes you all.” Arya pulled a field medkit from her bag and tore off two short wads of gauze from a roll. “If you both want to heal it and it won’t put either of you in danger, I won’t complain. It won’t be the last time I say it, but thank you. Really.”

Eragon smiled, a strange warmth bubbling in his heart at the elf’s expression of gratitude. In the back of his mind he sensed Saphira examining his emotions, and was a little confused when the dragon mentally chuckled at them. “You’re welcome. I like to help where I can.”

“Mm. Let’s get this over with then.” Without further ado Arya pulled the knife from the coals.

It was an old blade of human make, and by the seal stamped on the handle Eragon recognized it as one of the combat knives he had grabbed from a soldier during their mad escape from Gil'ead. In the light of the midmorning sun it was difficult to judge if the metal was glowing fiercely, but the blade had acquired a unmistakeable, faint orange color at the sides and an inch down the tip. At the thicker sections it seemed to be lit on the inside by a deep, dark cherry red glow.

Arya took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and went to stick the wad of gauze in her mouth as she lowered the hot blade towards her leg. Brom’s hand suddenly settled on her shoulder, and she looked up at him, startled out of her grim task.

“Do you want me to do it?” The old Rider’s voice was surprisingly gentle, soft even. In the months he had traveled with him, Eragon had heard him speak in such a tone only a handful of times, mostly murmured under his breath to himself or to Jeod when talking about the Varden and times past. Despite their rough banter, Eragon realized the Brom and Arya were undoubtedly good friends, to the point that he wondered if the two had fought together on the battlefield.

Arya looked between Brom and the knife for a moment, then sighed, “You might have to if I flinch and can’t keep up the pressure. I want to try it myself first, but thanks for having my back.” Brom nodded and pulled his hand back as the elf bit down on the gauze.

Then, without any other warning, she tore her nails across the gash in her leg, ripping away the disintegrating scab, and shoved the flat of the glowing knife into the now open wound.

Eragon jerked back, flinching as his self preservation instinct screamed at the indecency of blatant self-destruction. It wasn’t the visual that disturbed him, but the sound of the metal burning away first the blood and fluids, and then the infected flesh beneath. It hissed and sizzled, and occasionally sounded like the powerful magnet toys he used to buy at the fair and toss in the air hear their buzzing song.

For a moment Arya’s muscles snapped rigid, then she seemed to recover and her face fell into a blank, emotionless mask. After letting the blade rest in its original spot for several long seconds she lifted it and exposed the two remaining sections of the gash to the heat, quickly wiping the knife on the other piece of gauze between each burning. Eragon’s stomach did a sickening maneuver similar to a double full flip he had witnessed Katrina do at one of her gymnastics presentations with Roran when he realized that she was wiping seared flesh off the blade.

Then it was over. The entire procedure couldn’t have taken more than a minute, but the scent of burned meat hung in the air. Where infection had once turned tissue yellow and white, there was now only bright red muscle shot through with soot and darkened epidermis.

“That…wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” Arya hissed and spat the gauze out. Her teeth were clenched and voice tight, but her movements were controlled, smooth, and betrayed no other indications that she was in pain. “I’m not looking forward to it if I need to do it again, though.”

Brom rubbed his face, a little paler than usual. “There’s something just…so much more disturbing about seeing you do it to yourself.”

“Dear Gods above, I HEARD IT ALL THE WAY OVER HERE!” Came a distraught groan from Murtagh’s sleeping bag. Arya snatched a stick from the pile next to the fire, abandoning the still-hot knife, and whipped it at the tucked form huddled in the bag. It pegged the young man exactly where his head should have been, and muffled swearing drifted through the camp before it dwindled off as he rolled over and tried his best to sleep.

Eragon scooted closer, forcing himself to swallow back his queasiness. “Here, can we….” Arya leaned her head back and nodded, eyes shut tight as heat lingered in the wound.

Reaching out a thicker tendril of his consciousness to Saphira, the young Rider met the mind of his dragon halfway. Their thoughts, consciousnesses, and minds twisted around each other, binding together more strongly than they usually did. Saphira’s energy flowed into Eragon, and he in turn shared some of his until the stream equaled out and they were one.

Together they moved Eragon’s hand out, the Gedwëy Ignasia shining bright, and uttered the words needed to heal the now cleansed burn. The icy magic rushed through their joined minds, knitting the skin back together with the ease of water flowing from one side of a creak to the next.

As they completed their task, Saphira pulled back from the increased contact, again leaving their minds connected by the usual tendrils of thought. Once separated, Saphira mentioned to Eragon, 'Your magic tickles.’ and rubbed her snout on the side of her foreleg.

'Does it? It always feels cold to me.’ Eragon sat back on his heels, checking the wound to make sure he had not left any scarring this time. Like the other times he and Saphira had worked magic while bound together, he only felt a slight drain on their combined strength. 'I know when something is healed on me it itches like crazy though. Is that what you’re feeling?’

'Being a conduit is different from both casting and being casted on. Acting as the in-between must be giving me the sensation of both the cold and the itching. It makes my scales tickle.’ As if to demonstrate her point, the scales at Saphira’s neck lifted slightly with a sound similar to dry leaves being whisked away by a strong wind. The scales rose and lowered in a ripple along her entire body, giving the distinct impression that she had shivered. 'So, how did we do?’

“Very well for such a simply worded spell.” Eragon realized that Saphira had projected her last thought to Arya and Brom as well when the elf answered. She tested the new skin, not at all bothered that they had not healed the bruising, and seemed happy with the results of their casting. “You’re quite adept at magic for knowing so few words in the Ancient Language, Eragon. From what I’ve seen, you have an uncanny ability to influence your spells more with your intentions than the words you use.”

Brom grunted, nodding in Eragon’s direction. The older man’s chest seemed to swell with pride at the praise directed at his pupil. “Aye, he’s got a gift. And Saphira carries it as well. I’ve never heard of a dragon acting as such a strong conduit before. You both are learning well.”

Touched, Eragon dipped his head as both he and Saphira answered the compliments. Any praise coming from Brom was few and far between, and now he was practically bragging to Arya about their progress.

A comfortable silence fell once again. Brom laid out his sleeping bag, surrendering his usual first watch to Arya at her insistence that 'old men need their rest,’ and Saphira lifted her head from where it rested to tuck it under the tip of her tail, settling in to sleep. Arya tugged her boots back on and reloaded her pistol. Eragon stayed by the fire with her for a few more minutes, content to be close to the elf for a little longer before he too retired for sleep.

“Oh! Right.” Arya suddenly looked over at him, a gleam in her dark eyes. He met her gaze, puzzled, then let out a yelp as her fist shot out and punched him in the arm twice. He knew it was probably a love tap for someone of elvish strength, but it still stung.

“Hey!” Eragon leaned away from her, rubbing his sore arm. It would definitely be bruised by the time he woke that night. “What was that for?”

The elf grinned, rising to her feet to stretch and take her place for the first watch. She slung her sword and its harness over one shoulder, and Eragon felt a hot blush blossom on his cheeks when she casually roughed up his hair as she stepped by him. “Two for flinching.”

Modern Inheritance: Two for Flinching

(A/N: Some wound description and technically self harm? {wound burning for infection control}, so warnings for that. Just some Eragon and co. during the run to the Varden. This one actually has a bit more setup for Eragon’s book 1/early book 2 characterization, but I’m not sure how I did. He’s hard for me to write. There’s also quite a few mentions of tech and magic mechanics that I’ve worked into MIC, but those will be mentioned more in the tags.)

~~~

Eragon winced as Saphira landed. Per their usual travel plans since Gil'ead and Arya's awakening he had spent the night flying with Saphira while the others traveled at a continued breakneck pace on the ground with the horses. It was wearing them all down, even Saphira, and the few hours of sleep they managed to get during the daylight hours did little to alleviate the stress travel was putting on their bodies.

Camp was already in the midst of being set as Eragon untied his legs from the saddle and slid down Saphira's side. He landed then grimaced as he fell to his knees, muscles feeling like jelly.

"Did you see anything worth mentioning?" Brom asked as the young Rider pushed himself up. When he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak aloud, the older man grunted and turned back to unsaddling Snowfire. "There's supposed to be some old, ruined staging points of the Varden's around here. Must be further up ahead. We're going slower than I thought."

"We're going as fast as we can." Murtagh snapped. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Lately Eragon had noticed that the other youth was becoming increasingly agitated, quick to anger, and it wasn't just the lack of sleep and lingering sunburn getting to him."If you want to warn the Varden so bad, do some of your little magic tricks and tell them about the Urgals."

Arya spoke quickly from where she crouched coaxing the fire to life, cutting off Brom's scathing retort and ending the argument before it began. "It doesn't exactly work like that. Besides, the Varden has specific wards around their strongholds, preventing scrying and other magical forms of communication."

Eragon eased himself down next to the elf, trying to warm fingers stiff from flying so high in the chill clouds. "Then how do they stay in contact with you and anyone else outside their hiding spots? It seems dangerous to be so isolated."

The woman gently rearranged a few sticks to give the young flames more air and slipped a dark object under the growing pile of embers. "Special radios were developed, using the fingerprint technology similar to lock on my backpack. Mine was destroyed when Durza tried to operate it himself." She cracked a slight grin, still focused on her task. "Well, actually, it blew up in his face. Brain matter, just everywhere. Huh-hoo, he was pissed when he got back."

"The Varden rigs them to explode if the person's fingerprint doesn't match?!" Eragon recoiled slightly, agast. "What if someone's kid found it and thought it was a toy?"

Off to the side, Brom snorted, muttering, "I bet it wasn't the Varden who–"

"No, I rigged it up myself, and only for those who bore ill-will to the Varden and free races in case it fell into the wrong hands."

"Knew it." Brom scoffed. Arya looked over her shoulder to the old Rider and rolled her eyes. "You just like seeing things explode."

"Yeah, well, I don't think I've laughed so hard in years than when that thing went off. I think I even cracked a rib."

Brom shook his head, but let the matter go.

It wasn't long before the fire was high and the day's meal heated. They sat around the burning logs, Saphira even laying her head down to occupy a third of the circle, and planned the next few legs of travel. When the food was eaten, the talk dwindled away as they all sat staring into the flames, tired but not willing to sleep just yet.

Then Saphira flicked out her tongue, as if tasting the air, and projected her thoughts to the group.

'Whoever has the infected wound should care for it soon.' Everyone looked up, mildly startled out of their inner musings. 'It will turn into a deep-rot in another day or so. Just thought they should know.'

"You can smell things like that?" Eragon asked, surprised. "Are you like one of those dogs that can smell cancer?"

The dragon cut her eyes at him and her lip lifted slightly. 'I am nothing like a dog.'

The boy smiled apologetically, realizing his mistake. "I know. Sorry. But it's pretty cool being able to smell things like that."

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Aye, it's cool. But shouldn't we be more focused on who the hell was hiding a possibly necrotic wound? Things like that need to be addressed. It would only slow us down more."

Then a ringing SMACK! broke through the air as Brom suddenly slapped Arya upside the head. Hard.

"What the hell were you thinking, girl?" He growled, expression dark.

"Ow! Hey, why the fuck do you think it's me?!" The elf retorted sharply, rubbing the back of her head and glaring back at him.

Everyone, even Saphira, gave the woman a deadpan look that clearly asked 'really?'

She put her hands up. "Alright, alright, so yeah, maybe a cut or two got infected, but I'm already fixing them, okay?" Arya snarled, pointing at the handle of a knife sticking out of the dying fire's thick pile of coals.

Silence fell.

"Are you sure that is the best idea?" Brom asked slowly. He seemed to have calmed down a bit now that Arya had revealed having an actual plan and wasn't just ignoring her injuries. His change in tone made Eragon wonder if the latter was a common occurrence. "There's always magic. You don't have to–"

"And who, exactly, would cast it, hm? Eragon? Can you instruct him in the intricacies of infection cleansing within the next few minutes? I've still got enough drug in me to complicate healing spells, so that's out of the question. And I'll not have you working spells on me, not when the Varden will need you at your best." Arya shook her head. "No, it will have to be burned."

Murtagh stood at the mention of burning. "Oh, bloody hell. Not right after we ate!" He retreated to where he had tossed his saddlebags and began unrolling his sleeping bag. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again– you're bloody insane, Arya. I don't want to see this. I'm going to sleep."

"Sweet dreams, Murtagh." The elf called after him in a singsong voice. "Don't let the sizzling wake you up!" The young man let out a noise of disgust and threw himself on the blankets. "Wuss."

'She can't be serious about this!' Eragon exclaimed to Saphira, worried about the elf who was unlacing her boots as calmly as a praying monk. 'She's already hurt enough! We should offer to heal it. I know she shot Brom down, but–'

Saphira cut him off. 'Little one, do you honestly think that we know enough about healing to cleanse even a scratch of infection without making it worse? Brom has explained before that waíse heill has its limitations, one of the most dangerous being that if it closes an infected injury the infection will survive beneath the skin.' Eragon grimaced, cursing himself for nearly forgetting one of the nuances of the spell. 'Once the infected flesh is burned away, thenwe can attempt to heal it for Arya.'

Her logic was sound. 'I still don't like it. But you're right.'

The dragon sniffed, a short puff of smoke dissipating into the air above her nostrils. 'Of course I am.'

Eragon grinned, then turned his attention back to where Brom and Arya still sat by the fire as the older Rider grunted, "That looks like it hurt. You're lucky it didn't break." The boy approached them as Arya finished rolling her pant leg up to her knee.

"Perks of elvish bones, I guess." Arya muttered, gently testing the skin around the injury. On the outside of her left calf was a nasty, scraping gash, most likely left by the sharp edge of a hobnailed boot if the bruising pattern was anything to go by. The skin around the ragged edges was pink and red, and cracks ran through the roughly palm sized scab covering the cut and revealing damp, yellowish flesh beneath. Pinkish, yellow tinged fluid leaked from the cracks. "Damn. At least it isn't necrotic. You were right, Saphira. This one is about to turn." The elf flashed a thankful smile to the dragon. "Hell, you might have just saved my leg."

'You're quite welcome.'

Eragon winced when he saw the wound. "After you, uh…burn it, I can close it for you. A burn isn't too hard to heal, and it would keep it from getting infected again and slowing you down."

For a for a split second the memory of healing the elf's back jumped to the forefront of his mind. Not images of the horrifying wounds, but of warm skin, lean muscle and an unmistakably feminine body. Eragon felt the tips of his tapering ears turn bright red, and he quickly stuck his hands in his pockets, pinching himself hard through the fabric. It was definitely not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

He was thankful, then, that Arya looked over to Brom after giving him only a quick glance. "What do you think, old man? I can keep up well enough. Wouldn't mind a little less risk of that changing though."

Brom crossed his arms. "It's up to the boy and Saphira. Do you two think you can handle it?"

Eragon nodded firmly. "I'm sure I can. Definitely if Saphira helps. I really don't mind it, and it's the least I can do after being unable to heal the rest of your wounds properly."

"Hey, you and Saphira don't owe me anything. You saved my life in probably three different ways so far, so I'm the one that owes you all." Arya pulled a field medkit from her bag and tore off two short wads of gauze from a roll. "If you both want to heal it and it won't put either of you in danger, I won't complain. It won't be the last time I say it, but thank you. Really."

Eragon smiled, a strange warmth bubbling in his heart at the elf's expression of gratitude. In the back of his mind he sensed Saphira examining his emotions, and was a little confused when the dragon mentally chuckled at them. "You're welcome. I like to help where I can."

"Mm. Let's get this over with then." Without further ado Arya pulled the knife from the coals.

It was an old blade of human make, and by the seal stamped on the handle Eragon recognized it as one of the combat knives he had grabbed from a soldier during their mad escape from Gil'ead. In the light of the midmorning sun it was difficult to judge if the metal was glowing fiercely, but the blade had acquired a unmistakeable, faint orange color at the sides and an inch down the tip. At the thicker sections it seemed to be lit on the inside by a deep, dark cherry red glow.

Arya took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and went to stick the wad of gauze in her mouth as she lowered the hot blade towards her leg. Brom's hand suddenly settled on her shoulder, and she looked up at him, startled out of her grim task.

"Do you want me to do it?" The old Rider's voice was surprisingly gentle, soft even. In the months he had traveled with him, Eragon had heard him speak in such a tone only a handful of times, mostly murmured under his breath to himself or to Jeod when talking about the Varden and times past. Despite their rough banter, Eragon realized the Brom and Arya were undoubtedly good friends, to the point that he wondered if the two had fought together on the battlefield.

Arya looked between Brom and the knife for a moment, then sighed, "You might have to if I flinch and can't keep up the pressure. I want to try it myself first, but thanks for having my back." Brom nodded and pulled his hand back as the elf bit down on the gauze.

Then, without any other warning, she tore her nails across the gash in her leg, ripping away the disintegrating scab, and shoved the flat of the glowing knife into the now open wound.

Eragon jerked back, flinching as his self preservation instinct screamed at the indecency of blatant self-destruction. It wasn't the visual that disturbed him, but the sound of the metal burning away first the blood and fluids, and then the infected flesh beneath. It hissed and sizzled, and occasionally sounded like the powerful magnet toys he used to buy at the fair and toss in the air hear their buzzing song.

For a moment Arya's muscles snapped rigid, then she seemed to recover and her face fell into a blank, emotionless mask. After letting the blade rest in its original spot for several long seconds she lifted it and exposed the two remaining sections of the gash to the heat, quickly wiping the knife on the other piece of gauze between each burning. Eragon's stomach did a sickening maneuver similar to a double full flip he had witnessed Katrina do at one of her gymnastics presentations with Roran when he realized that she was wiping seared flesh off the blade.

Then it was over. The entire procedure couldn't have taken more than a minute, but the scent of burned meat hung in the air. Where infection had once turned tissue yellow and white, there was now only bright red muscle shot through with soot and darkened epidermis.

"That...wasn't as bad as I thought it would be." Arya hissed and spat the gauze out. Her teeth were clenched and voice tight, but her movements were controlled, smooth, and betrayed no other indications that she was in pain. "I'm not looking forward to it if I need to do it again, though."

Brom rubbed his face, a little paler than usual. "There's something just…so much more disturbing about seeing you do it to yourself."

"Dear Gods above, I HEARD IT ALL THE WAY OVER HERE!" Came a distraught groan from Murtagh's sleeping bag. Arya snatched a stick from the pile next to the fire, abandoning the still-hot knife, and whipped it at the tucked form huddled in the bag. It pegged the young man exactly where his head should have been, and muffled swearing drifted through the camp before it dwindled off as he rolled over and tried his best to sleep.

Eragon scooted closer, forcing himself to swallow back his queasiness. "Here, can we…." Arya leaned her head back and nodded, eyes shut tight as heat lingered in the wound.

Reaching out a thicker tendril of his consciousness to Saphira, the young Rider met the mind of his dragon halfway. Their thoughts, consciousnesses, and minds twisted around each other, binding together more strongly than they usually did. Saphira's energy flowed into Eragon, and he in turn shared some of his until the stream equaled out and they were one.

Together they moved Eragon's hand out, the Gedwëy Ignasia shining bright, and uttered the words needed to heal the now cleansed burn. The icy magic rushed through their joined minds, knitting the skin back together with the ease of water flowing from one side of a creak to the next.

As they completed their task, Saphira pulled back from the increased contact, again leaving their minds connected by the usual tendrils of thought. Once separated, Saphira mentioned to Eragon, 'Your magic tickles.' and rubbed her snout on the side of her foreleg.

'Does it? It always feels cold to me.' Eragon sat back on his heels, checking the wound to make sure he had not left any scarring this time. Like the other times he and Saphira had worked magic while bound together, he only felt a slight drain on their combined strength. 'I know when something is healed on me it itches like crazy though. Is that what you're feeling?'

'Being a conduit is different from both casting and being casted on. Acting as the in-between must be giving me the sensation of both the cold and the itching. It makes my scales tickle.' As if to demonstrate her point, the scales at Saphira's neck lifted slightly with a sound similar to dry leaves being whisked away by a strong wind. The scales rose and lowered in a ripple along her entire body, giving the distinct impression that she had shivered. 'So, how did we do?'

"Very well for such a simply worded spell." Eragon realized that Saphira had projected her last thought to Arya and Brom as well when the elf answered. She tested the new skin, not at all bothered that they had not healed the bruising, and seemed happy with the results of their casting. "You're quite adept at magic for knowing so few words in the Ancient Language, Eragon. From what I've seen, you have an uncanny ability to influence your spells more with your intentions than the words you use."

Brom grunted, nodding in Eragon's direction. The older man's chest seemed to swell with pride at the praise directed at his pupil. "Aye, he's got a gift. And Saphira carries it as well. I've never heard of a dragon acting as such a strong conduit before. You both are learning well."

Touched, Eragon dipped his head as both he and Saphira answered the compliments. Any praise coming from Brom was few and far between, and now he was practically bragging to Arya about their progress.

A comfortable silence fell once again. Brom laid out his sleeping bag, surrendering his usual first watch to Arya at her insistence that 'old men need their rest,' and Saphira lifted her head from where it rested to tuck it under the tip of her tail, settling in to sleep. Arya tugged her boots back on and reloaded her pistol. Eragon stayed by the fire with her for a few more minutes, content to be close to the elf for a little longer before he too retired for sleep.

"Oh! Right." Arya suddenly looked over at him, a gleam in her dark eyes. He met her gaze, puzzled, then let out a yelp as her fist shot out and punched him in the arm twice. He knew it was probably a love tap for someone of elvish strength, but it still stung.

"Hey!" Eragon leaned away from her, rubbing his sore arm. It would definitely be bruised by the time he woke that night. "What was that for?"

The elf grinned, rising to her feet to stretch and take her place for the first watch. She slung her sword and its harness over one shoulder, and Eragon felt a hot blush blossom on his cheeks when she casually roughed up his hair as she stepped by him. "Two for flinching."

Covert Operations - Chapter 127

SYNOPSIS:  While Jamie and Claire travel to their downtime destination, Murtagh Fitzgibbons is summoned to the White Room and Madeline questions him about the breach and Colum Mackenzie.  He asks if his girlfriend Bóinne is under suspicion and defends her.  He also suggests that perhaps Colum planted some devices in Section without their knowledge. This plants a seed in Madeline’s mind.

Chapter 126 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU all so much for the feedback on the last chapter. Your comments were wonderful and I am humbled by the response Chapter 126 had. Things have been tough for Jamie and Claire and hopefully they have now found a haven in which to recuperate. Things at Section One are heating up as well as Madeline and Operations come to grips with the interference from Colum Mackenzie.  The question is why? And if there is a mole, who could it be? All will be revealed in due course.

  CHAPTER 127

Fergus Claudel looked at his friend Murtagh with concern on his face. He adjusted the glasses on his nose in nervous tension dying to know what had just happened, who had called and most importantly … why.

“What’s the matter?” Replacing the handset back into its cradle on the wall, Murtagh took a breath to compose his thoughts knowing that the techie would have a million questions, then he turned around to face his buddy. He looked up at Fergus and told him the news. “They want to see me in the White Room.” “What! Both of them? That can’t be good.” “No just Madeline as far as I know. But who knows? Operations may be there too.” “You okay?” “Yeah. Knowing that Madeline wants to see me in the White Room sort of reshuffled my deck just a little bit there for a while.” “Did they say why? What do they want with you?” “What do you think? I guess I just pushed the envelope once too often again,” he joked as the colour returned to his face. Fergus’s apprehension returned once more. “This is my fault. It’s because I told them a lie about the breach. They’ve found out it was not true. You can’t beat Section.”  “No, you did the right thing.” Fergus was thankful for Murtagh’s comment but nevertheless he felt for his friend. “Will you be all right?” “I’ll be fine … it could be about something else altogether.” Fergus suddenly felt a glimmer of hope although it was very slim. “Do you think so?” Replying confidently he stated categorically. “I know so. Operations was completely satisfied with the outcome, so it can’t be about the breach. Maybe it’s about something altogether different. We’ll just have to wait and see. I don't think it's going to go too badly. They seem to be in a forgiving mood.” “You think so? Madeline and Operations are seldom in a good mood. Why would they be this time?’ “I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about. It is probably just routine.” However, Fergus was not so sure. “Murtagh… listen … is there anything I can do to get you out of this?” “Nah. They might be calling everyone in including you too.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Taken aback, Fergus was a little petrified having never been in the White Room before and being a little squeamish too he knew what tactics were employed to make people talk. He hadn’t even been able to watch interrogations on his monitor so how could he cope in such a situation?

“Murtagh I’m worried. What if they torture me for Intel?” “I’ve already told you there’s nothing to worry about. They won’t torture you Fergus.”

Fitzgibbons screwed his face up. As he did so, the laughter lines were prominent on his craggy face. The young techie was gradually going a whiter shade of pale and unable to stop himself from teasing his friend a little more Murtagh replied candidly.

“They’ll just scare the living daylights out of you and maybe rough you up a little.”  This time Fergus was really petrified. “Really?” “Relax amigo. I was only joking.” “That’s not funny Murtagh,” he replied horrified. “I’ll be a blithering mess. I won’t be able to cope.” “Yes you will … remember what I said about knowing when to lie, and when to tell the truth … well this is one of those times.” “Are you telling me, to lie?” “No, I'm telling you to survive. But how you do it is up to you.” Fergus heard what Murtagh had said but he didn’t really listen to him. He continued to prattle on about his thoughts spinning all kinds of horrible scenarios in his head. He felt a panic attack coming on.

“They'll use invasive testing. What should I do?”  The older operative could see that his friend was scared stiff. He had not diffused the situation enough to make his worry go away. There was only one thing he could think of... but it was a little drastic. He gave Fergus a solemn look.

“If you’re really worried this is what you can do …”  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Murtagh Fitzgibbons made his way to the White Room somewhat apprehensive as to what might await him once he entered the interrogation chamber. It was unusual to say the least as to why he’d been summoned to an inquisition in there of all places. Unfortunately, his conversation with Fergus had raised some doubts in his own mind despite his replies otherwise to appease his friend’s concerns.  Perhaps Operations and Madeline had indeed had a change of mind about the events in Section that he and Fergus had in fact caused. But Operations rarely went back on any decisions he’d made and Fergus had provided unequivocal evidence to support his theory, so that should have been the end to it. So why had he been summoned to the White Room? What was the reasoning behind his orders? Something else must have rattled their cage. But … what was it? Was it to find out if he was able to contact Jamie and Claire or was it about Oversight and Colum? There was known animosity between the leaders and perhaps he was too knowing about the happenings at Section One for Operations and Madeline’s liking. Whatever the reason he and Fergus knew nothing about Colum Mackenzie and any interference he may have caused at Section. Hence, he was reassured that they really did have nothing to worry about.  He soon rounded the corner and the imposing door to the White Room loomed in front of him. Standing on the threshold Murtagh took a deep breath and reaching out his hands pushed the door open. The noise of the creaking hinges echoed loudly in the corridor. The sound also reverberated in his head as it opened to reveal who and what was in the White Room. Murtagh studied the place where terrorists had been interrogated and tortured a tad reluctant to enter. The only items occupying the round room were an imposing metal chair, a table and a small computer standing next to it. His eyes surreptitiously cased the surroundings and the rigid back of the sole person waiting for his arrival.  “Come in Murtagh,” Madeline cajoled. Entering the stark white room warily, he walked over towards Section One’s head strategist and inquisitor extraordinaire.

“Killing me I can understand. But ... torture?”  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline turned around to face Section’s weapons expert and watched as he entered the White Room and walked over to her. Ignoring his remarks, she said, “Please sit down.”  He took a seat in the chair occupying the sparse room while somewhat cynically looking around the area and waited his fate. Madeline was alone and she didn’t strap him into the chair as was the usual procedure for interrogations. There was also little paraphernalia on the table and the computer was not switched on so that was a good sign also. However, any thought of reprieve was short lived as the twins entered and strapped him into the chair as protocol directed. Once that was done, they looked at Madeline for further instructions before leaving the room on her tacit command. Murtagh Fitzgibbons waited for his fate. Madeline started circling the chair in an off-putting manner as if to gather her thoughts and he was none the wiser as to her intentions.  She finally stopped walking around after a few times and stood in front of him. Her stance was stoic and her eyes looked right through him. He braced himself for whatever was to come, but her words were not what he’d expected to hear.

“You're not going to be tortured.” “Well that’s a relief.”  But she hadn’t finished speaking. “And you're not going to be killed …”  “Even better.” Her sentence trailed off and Murtagh knew that there was some kind of proviso. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity at what Madeline had said, he decided to ask what his fate may be. “Then why am I here?”  “Some questioning.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Section’s head strategist couldn’t have been more enigmatic.  Initially Murtagh thought he was here in the White Room to be asked about the breach, but Madeline had given no inclination that he or Fergus were implicated in any way. He was sure she would have used a different tack rather than just questioning him if she suspected they had been responsible. But on noticing a syringe on the table, he wasn’t so sure about her motives after all. He gave her an indifferent glance and brazenly asked, “What’s that stuff?” Madeline pulled her hands out from behind her back. “It’s a sedative,” she responded nonchalantly. “Any particular reason why I might need that?” He asked questioningly before giving a tongue in cheek reply. “Why don't you just give me a couple of aspirins and I'll call myself in the morning?” “A bio probe requires the subject to be relaxed.” That certainly got Murtagh’s attention as her reply was somewhat disconcerting. “Bio probe? Is this some type of truth serum?” Was Madeline playing mind games with him after all? That was her forte after all.  “You may feel light headed; may even hallucinate,” Madeline said quietly as she read the alarmed emotions skimming across his face.  However, trying to diffuse the situation he gave another flippant comeback in return. “Haven’t done that in years.” Madeline gave a wry smile at his typical retort but brushed it aside as there were pressing issues that needed to be addressed. Her steely manner indicated that she meant business. “If I’m not satisfied with the answers you give, that’s your only option.” It was then that she surprised him and came right to the crux of the reason he was here in the White Room. Madeline didn’t even bat an eyelid as she asked with conviction, “Don't you want to tell me about your part in the breach?” Looking his superior straight in the face and without flinching he stated, “There’s nothing to tell.” She was not convinced. “Are you sure?” “Positive. I had nothing to do with the breach and besides didn’t Fergus find that the cause was a malfunction.” Madeline stood her ground and glared at Murtagh. She continued her questions as if he hadn’t answered her at all. “Did you really think you could get away with this? You and Fergus were in a restricted area without authorization. How do you explain that?” “We did explain that to your satisfaction and besides we were in Systems when all the hullabaloo went down so how could we be responsible when we were nowhere in the vicinity. I think you are chasing rainbows Madeline. There is nothing more to add.”  See gave him a steely look telling Murtagh that she was not finished yet. “Oh ... there is one thing ...” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Satisfied that his answers were unwavering Madeline decided to pursue a new line of questioning about the other pressing matter. She took something from her pocket and showed him a small CD. “I'd like you to take a look at something.”  Even more curious, Murtagh took the CD and studied it, completely at sea as to what it might contain. “What's on this?” He inquired with interest.  “Let’s play it shall we ... and you'll see,” was her enigmatic reply. Madeline gave Murtagh one of her Mona Lisa smiles which, but far from putting his mind at ease, only exacerbated his curiosity as to what it may contain. He was at a loss to think of anything that it might be. 

Was there actually evidence on the CD that had placed them in the restricted area which had been captured on a hidden camera? He quickly dismissed that idea as he’d been responsible for setting up the security in that area and knew exactly where to be cautious. 

Perhaps she was trying to trip him up on his answers to her questions?  However, he dismissed that idea as well. Madeline would have used the sedative by now if she hadn’t been satisfied with his initial answers as she’d indicated she would. He racked his brain to think of other scenarios but came up empty handed.  He briefly looked around the room, as if searching for anything that would provide some light on whatever it was that Madeline had in mind before she loaded the CD into the computer and showed him the download. The picture that appeared before him was quite confronting and he was taken by surprise by what he saw. Murtagh gasped as he watched several images of Bóinne and himself in Medical when he’d gone to check up on Jamie and Claire. However, he was more amazed when images from the covert area where they would meet within Section also appeared. He was shocked that surveillance he was unaware of, had caught the two of them together in intimate moments when they thought they were away from prying eyes. Little did they know that they were indeed being observed but what bothered him most was that Operations and Madeline had proof of their intimate relationship and clandestine meetings. He wondered what else they had on him and Bóinne. He soon found out. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The room lights dimmed and a vision of light appeared on the floor in front of him … but it was not as Murtagh expected. As he watched, a circle of light rose from the floor; two figures began to take shape in its centre which miraculously morphed into himself and his paramour. The holograph had all of their mannerisms and captured their every word when he’d returned from the retrieval mission and was heading for his quarters when Bóinne had appeared out of nowhere. He watched and listened to the recording of their conversation. "Not here Murtagh!" "Why not?" "Oh it's … it's just too dangerous, that's all. Someone may see us." "That's what makes you so exciting. I like it ... dangerous!" "Murtagh, you're playing with fire."  "Grrr … I know. Right now, I could self-combust."  "Look Murtagh … I've got to go ... I'll see you when I finish my shift." "Yes … I'll ... see you later. I'll be waiting."  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Would you care to explain this?” Madeline’s words cut through the air like a knife. He was still gobsmacked that they had evidence of their private meeting. Suddenly, he had vivid memories of what had taken place later that evening after he’d returned from the retrieval mission. Murtagh swallowed a deep breath before answering. “I think it pretty self-explanatory myself,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.  “Did you really think you could get away with this?”  Her tone was cool but Murtagh took it all with a grain of salt. “Get away with what?” He asked surprised at her question. “Fraternization between operatives for one thing.” He was quick with a rejoinder barb. “A bond between two agents isn't always such a bad thing.”  Madeline however, left no doubt about what her thoughts were. “Is that so?”  In reply he stated the obvious. “You always knew that we had a thing going. You can’t deny it. You always seem to know everything that goes on in Section.” A wry smile skimmed her lips. “Yes, that is true.” “Well what Bóinne and I have … it’s called living.” “Living?”  “Look it up, it’s in the dictionary.” Madeline was gradually losing patience with him and his glib answers. “Murtagh Fitzgibbons, you’re a 60-year-old teenager. Ever since your return from the retrieval mission you have changed.”  “I'm really not interested in just surviving anymore. I am interested in living that's where the real difference is.” “I see …” He interrupted Madeline before she could continue. “In fact, we're getting married … I asked Bóinne last night. She accepted right away,” he added for extra emphasis. This information got her attention. “We were aware that Bóinne was on familiar terms with you but we didn’t realise it had progressed that far.”  “Facing death can make you re-evaluate your life.” “I guess congratulations are in order then.” “Thanks but don’t knock yourself out saying it Madeline.” She ignored his statement and continued her agenda. “Regardless of Bóinne’s new status, what we need to know is this … is she loyal to the Section?” Taken aback by Madeline’s line of questioning Murtagh replied emphatically. “Of course, she is … one hundred percent. Why?” “Can you be sure?” “What does that mean?” “We believe that there is a mole in Section who is passing on Intel to Colum at Oversight.” “Is Bóinne under suspicion?” He wanted to know now realising the motive behind Madeline’s statement. “Everyone is under suspicion … including you.” “She works in medical. Bóinne is a nurse not an operative.”  “Precisely ... but she is still an operative first.” “What Intel could she possibly pass on to Colum?”  “Medical Intel about Jamie and Claire.” “Why would Colum want with Intel on them? He can ask you and Operations for all he needs to know.” Madeline repeated her question ignoring the truth of this fact. “Is Bóinne responsible for passing Intel on to Colum?” In defending her, Murtagh’s hackles began to rise as each question probed deeper into his fiancée’s character. “No! Of course not! You can’t be serious and believe that she is a mole.”  “Well how did Colum get prior information? He seems very well informed on their progress.” “How should I know? … Perhaps he’s planted some devices in Section without your knowledge. That would be a first …,” he added under his breath. However, Madeline heard his remark. “Perhaps you are the one responsible. You’ve had access to Medical on numerous occasions. Did you hand the Intel to Colum? Or are you going to deny it?” “Yes, of course I deny it. I gave him nothing. Why would I do that? I have nothing to gain. I've been doing this job since before you came to Section, and I can probably do your job too … but I am not a mole.” “Really?”  “Really.” Becoming frustrated by his answers, Madeline seemed to be making little headway. “This level of betrayal from you would be unacceptable. Answer me Murtagh.” She leaned in closer until her face was parallel to his. “Or we can inject the sedative, and start this procedure right from the top. Is that what you want?” “I did answer you. I’m not the mole and I’d bet my life on Bóinne not being one also. If you want something from me, just come out and say it or else you can go straight to …” “One of these days you're going to carry this cranky old man act a little too far Fitzgibbons.” “Okay, spare me the excerpts from the owner's manual do whatever you're going to do and just get on with it! Call in the twins.”  “That won’t be necessary. Murtagh, did you do it?” Shaking his head in denial his reply was categorical. “No! What is happening to this place Madeline? This would never have happened back then when Letitia was heading Section. We all had our jobs, we did them, we were a team, we respected each other.” “We didn't change Murtagh, the world did.” “That’s the pity especially when you interrogate people because of their loyalty to the Section. I would have thought that my past record stands on its own and would not be questioned. I am not the mole and Bóinne is not the mole. We’re just doing our jobs as best we can.”  Madeline looked at Murtagh Fitzgibbons and knew he was telling the truth. He was not the infiltrator but he had given her some food for thought about Colum that she would need to follow up. Dismissing him she stated.

“That will be all … you can go.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ After Murtagh had been summoned to the White Room, Fergus stayed behind in the back room of Munitions. He was a little spooked about his friend being called in for interrogation and hoped that his fate would not be too painful. Whenever Madeline or Operations was on the warpath, heads rolled and he certainly didn’t want to be placed in abeyance because of some prank that had gone horribly wrong. He’d told him not to worry, but that never stopped the demons in his mind raising their ugly head. He wouldn’t have been in this situation if Murtagh had not initiated their clandestine search for Jamie’s files in the first place. Although at the time it seemed like a good idea that was not the case now. Because of what they’d done, all of Section had to undergo interrogation so that Madeline could get to the bottom of the breach, when there really wasn’t one in the first place. The more he thought about the results of their actions the more Fergus was worried that he would suffer the wrath of Section’s leaders. In his mind his fate was already sealed. He seemed to be destined for abeyance after all. That was unless he could carry out Murtagh’s plan.  However, it was his friend’s novel idea that he was having second thoughts about. Fergus just didn’t know if he was brave enough to follow through with his buddy’s suggestion, but what options did he have? He decided to bite the bullet and give it a try. Taking one more glance outside he carefully looked to see who was around and if the coast was clear. Seeing that it was he proceeded back into Murtagh’s workstation area and removed the facing of the differential calibrator on the wall in a corner of his main work room. He’d told him what to do but Fergus stared at the calibrator summoning up enough courage to actually touch it as he’d been instructed to do. Although he was reticent, he really had few options. Trustingly Fergus placed his hand in, but whipped it back out quick smart, when he was shocked with an electrical charge. “Whoa! It's a live current!” He blurted out surprised that Murtagh hadn’t warned him that he would experience an electric shock.  Fergus turned and looked at the calibrator's inner workings hoping there was another way to avoid the pain he’d just felt. However, he knew he needed to place his hand back as Murtagh had said he was to put it inside and keep it there, however, he was reluctant to have a repeat of what had just happened to him. The last thing that he wanted to do was put his hand back inside knowing that to do so would result in a painful electric shock. He stared at the calibrator and wondered about the sense of this experiment just to avoid his fate in the White Room. Meanwhile, his hand seemed to hover just outside the calibrator almost as if his appendage had a mind of its own and had no intention of going back inside. Uncertain thoughts lingered in Fergus’s mind of the validity of this endeavour… “Keep it there? For how long?” However, while he was being reticent, Murtagh’s words suddenly echoed in his head in answer to his questions.” You’ll need to keep your hand in there as long as you can bear it. The longer the better... It's the only way you'll pass the test.”  Fergus took a deep breath, then gritted his teeth and stuck his hand back inside. As the electric force ran through his body, he reached out with his other hand and held on to a nearby railing as the current shocked the hell out of him. Clenching his teeth tightly, he trembled uncontrollably for the pain was unbearable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Once Murtagh had left the White Room, Madeline contacted Operations in his office via a video link up to discuss what had happened during his questioning. They had already discussed the possibility of Murtagh and Fergus being the source passing Intel to Colum, but Operations had quickly dismissed that notion. He was convinced that they were opportunists not traitors. Nonetheless, she had needed to check this out and now after Murtagh’s interrogation she was of the same opinion. Still waters ran deep with Fitzgibbons but his loyalty to the Section seemed steadfast. Madeline was interested in Operations’ take on proceedings and wanted to know if they were on the same page concerning Murtagh’s mindset. She waited for the linkup to become activated. When it did so, she asked her question. “Dougal? Did you follow the interrogation?” In his office, Operations sat back thoughtfully in his chair pondering what he had just witnessed in the White Room. His image appeared on screen and Madeline heard his reply. “Yes.” “What are your thoughts? I'd appreciate them.”  “What about? Murtagh’s denial? His impending marriage? Or what he said about Colum?”  Madeline heard the growing scepticism in Operations’ voice. “All three of course. I’d be thankful for your feedback and point of view.” He gave her a wry smile. “Do you think Murtagh is telling the truth?” Madeline watched him, her mind already turning over possible scenarios about the answers he’d given in her own mind. “I've studied his file very carefully. Reviewed his evaluations; assessed his psychological profile in great detail in the past.”  “And?”  Smiling, she shook her head, as perplexed as Operations. “I don't know. I can only go on what I saw and heard in the White Room … and I’m sure he is.”  “I agree.” “He denied that Bóinne is the mole. What do you think?” “Could be his hormones have clouded his judgement. But … It’s possible. She does have unlimited access to Med Lab.” “We need to follow that up.” “Does Murtagh know that she will be put into abeyance regardless if she is the mole? She has been earmarked for the Somalia mission.” “No. Besides … nobody asked him to marry someone with a weak performance record.” “How do you think he’ll react if he does?” Ever cold and calculating she replied. “He'll put it behind him, in time.”  “We don't have time Madeline.”  The urgency in Operations voice was evident and it gave her cause to think. Section’s head strategist’s thought processes were churning in how to deal with the situation about Bóinne and Murtagh. “Perhaps we should postpone any talk of her abeyance for a while until we sort out this mess with Colum then.”  “I’ll consider it … but if she’s the mole I won’t hesitate to follow through.” After a moment Madeline offered another solution to their dilemma although it was farfetched. “We could cancel Murtagh too. If Bóinne is the plant surely he would know about it.”  However, Operations quickly dismissed that idea. “I don't want to do that ... He was adamant that she had no involvement.”  Madeline unemotionally voiced another reason … one that would impact on Section. If they indeed acted on her previous suggestion, it could have greater ramifications in the long run. “And if a ... key member … of the Tactical Team dies just after he's been questioned ... it will only complicate things further.”  Operations nodded his head briefly, his expression affirming Madeline's insinuation. “That, too. Mr Lambert would certainly be breathing down our necks wanting to know the reasons why. Murtagh has been here as long as I can remember.” “Colum would take great delight in that happening,” she added in clarification.  “Too true. We can’t let that come about Madeline. We need to find the culprit who is feeding Intel to him A.S.A.P. We also can’t afford for Colum to know we may suspect him of treachery.”  Madeline wondered if the same could be said of Fergus when his turn came to be interrogated. “Perhaps Mr Claudel can shed some light on the matter.” “We have a small window of opportunity while Jamie and Claire are away to get to the bottom of this.” “Let me work on it.”  Operations sighed and nodded his head, just relieved that Madeline would find who was responsible once and for all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued FRIDAY 19th JUNE  when we find out how Jamie and Claire are settling in after their long trip.

What’s on TV Sunday: ‘Outlander’ and ‘Last Week Tonight’

What’s on TV

OUTLANDER 8 p.m. on Starz. The fifth season of this historical time-travel drama, adapted from Diana Gabaldon’s novels, picks up in the aftermath of Brianna (Sophie Skelton) and Roger’s (Richard Rankin) wedding celebrations. Jamie (Sam Heughan) considers how to move forward after he is ordered to gather a militia to bring down the Regulators and kill their leader, the fugitive Murtagh (Duncan Lacroix), who just happens to be his godfather. Brianna revisits a traumatic moment after hearing some shocking news.

DUNCANVILLE 8:30 p.m. on Fox. Sandwiched between “The Simpsons” and “Bob’s Burgers” is “Duncanville,” a new animated series that fits right into the lineup. The show is created by Mike Scully and Julie Thacker (of “The Simpsons”) and Amy Poehler, who also voices the lead, a slacker teenager named Duncan, and his mother, Annie, a parking enforcement officer with dreams of becoming a detective. Annie worries constantly about Duncan’s future and shows her love for him in her own peculiar way. (“I stopped smoking halfway through my pregnancy for you!”) Other cast members include Ty Burrell of “Modern Family,” Rashida Jones and Wiz Khalifa.

GOOD GIRLS 10 p.m. on NBC. The good girls are still busy being bad. The second season of this dramedy series, about three suburban mothers-turned-criminals, wrapped up with Beth (Christina Hendricks) taking out Rio and suggesting a new money laundering plan to Ruby (Retta) and Annie (Mae Whitman). Now back for a third season, the women take up new jobs that will help them grow their business venture while Beth grapples with her guilt over Rio’s death.

SLOW BURN 10 p.m. on Epix. Political junkies may want to tune into this new documentary series, adapted from the popular Slate Plus podcast of the same name. The six-episode season unpacks how the Watergate scandal unfolded while drawing parallels between that era’s political landscape and the present. Leon Neyfakh, the host of the original podcast, narrates. WAR OF THE WORLDS, a new sci-fi series drawn from the novel by H.G. Wells, leads in at 9 p.m.

LAST WEEK TONIGHT WITH JOHN OLIVER 11 p.m. on HBO; stream on HBO platforms. For a more satirical take on today’s political climate, catch the seventh season premiere of John Oliver’s weekly late-night show. Upcoming episodes will cover topics like Brexit and the end of NRATV and feature a number of guest stars, including Tracy Morgan and Bill Nye.

What’s Streaming

BOILING POINT (1999) Stream on Mubi or Tubi; rent on Amazon, Google Play, iTunes, Vudu, YouTube. Directed by the comedian, actor and filmmaker Takeshi Kitano, this crime film that was released in Japan in 1990 follows a dispirited baseball player (Masahiko Ono) who teams up with a friend to get revenge on a local yakuza that attacked his coach. Their mission pairs them with an eccentric yakuza boss (Kitano) who leads them deep into the underworld. The movie isn’t for the squeamish: It features a hefty dose of brutality and a dash of black humor.

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