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?"