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?"