ORANGE-CLAD TRAIN-CLIMBER CREW, MOVING  
 ALONG THE  RUSTY  CARGO  CARS  LIKE SOME 
 SPECIES  OF  FERROPHAGE  INSECT. UP  AND 
 DOWN THE TRAIN,  CHECKING BOLTS,  OILING 
     JOINTS, DRINKING COFFEE, SMOKING     
                CIGARETTES.               
                                          
            
                                          
 WE WERE GOING  SOUTH THROUGH  FINLAND AT 
 THE   TIME,   SLEEPING   CLOSE   TO  THE 
  FURNACE, WATCHING THE AURORA BOREALIS.  
   TWENTY-SOMETHING MEMBERS OF THE CREW,  
 MOST  OF   WHICH  WERE   MECHANICS,   OR 
 LOADERS,  WITH  LARGE  AND  HAIRY  HANDS 
 THAT  COULD SWALLOW MY ENTIRE  BODY. AND 
 ME  FEATURING AS  THE  CUTE AND  ASOCIAL 
 RADIO  OPERATOR, STATIONED  IN  THE BACK 
    OF THE KILOMETER-LONG TRAIN, WHICH    
         SERVED ME GOOD AND WELL.         
                                          
 AND THEN  ONE NIGHT, THERE'S  A MISSILE. 
 WE WOULD  ROUTINELY PICK UP NEW  CARS AT 
 THE TAIL,  AND DROP  SOME OFF, AS A  WAY 
 OF  EARNING  SOME  EXTRA  MONEY.  BUT  A 
 MISSILE,  AND APPEARING SILENTLY IN  THE 
 MIDDLE   OF  THE  NIGHT  AT  THAT?   NOT 
         ENTIRELY... COMFORTABLE.         
                                          
 I  CALL IT IN  ON THE WALKIE-TALKIE. NOT 
 MANY  OTHERS  AWAKE, THEY  KNOW  NOTHING 
 ABOUT IT, AND APPEAR CONCERNED AS  WELL. 
                                          
            
                                          
 WHEN  I  FALL  AWAKE  IN  THE AFTERNOON, 
 KARL  IS  THERE,  SMILING  AT  ME.  "HEY 
 BOY," HE SAYS,  "WANNA HELP  ME  MAKE  A 
                  CALL?"                  
                                          
 AFTER  HE'S  BROUGHT ME  COFFEE, I  DIAL 
 THE  FREQUENCY  FROM  HIS  NOTEBOOK, AND 
 AFTER  A  WHILE  THERE'S   A  REPLY   IN 
 PAN-SLAVIC.  KARL  LAUGHS  AND  MAKES  A 
 REPLY IN  THE SAME LANGUAGE. EVEN THOUGH 
 WE  BOTH HAVE HEADPHONES I CAN'T  FOLLOW 
 AT ALL, BUT I HEAR THE WORD  "MISSILE" A 
                FEW TIMES.                
                                          
 I'M  ALMOST  SNOOZING AGAIN AT  THE TIME 
 KARL PUTS  DOWN THE HEADPHONES AND SLAPS 
 ME  ON MY  BACK. "ALLRIGHT  BOY.  I JUST 
 SOLD A MISSILE."  HE  PRACTICALLY  BEAMS 
 AT ME, TEETH FILED SHARP. "WANNA MAKE  A 
                 DETOUR?"