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?"