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?"