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?"