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?"