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?"