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?"