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?"