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?"