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?"