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?"