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?"