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?"