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?"