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?"