The Afternoon of the Rebel Ordeal

It was still dark out, and cool, but dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon as Secret Service agent James West practiced his martial arts moves a short distance from the Wanderer. He craved mornings like this, solitary and silent and in between dangerous assignments, when he could exercise at his leisure and take in deep breaths of clean air. No worries. He shivered just a little as he felt a trickle of sweat drip and then evaporate almost instantly in the morning chill. He took another deep breath and a distant but familiar scent in the air flooded him with a strange sensation. He froze in mid-maneuver as the power of memory overcame him, sharp as a razor – a long-buried memory of years ago. Of another chilly morning when he'd felt the sweat on his skin go dry, under far less pleasant circumstances . . . .