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?"