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?"