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?"