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?"