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?"