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?"