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?"