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?"