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?"