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?"