Chapter 220: The Arithmetic of Fear (2)
Forty miles from the Bastion 7 stood the Border Observation Post Vell. And you don't have to be a genius to know what happens here.
Watchman Erran Doss was stationed. He had a big, long scope he used to watch the fog. After eleven years of holding that post, staying sane is hard.
The job itself was not hard and you just didn't have to be blind to qualify for it. Sit in a steel box on a damn rock, looking north through the scope at gray fog. Log whatever you see and at the end of the shift you write NO CHANGE and go to sleep.
Guess how many times he had written NO CHANGE. Four thousand times. Nothing changed after all this time. What a great job! No life whatsoever.
At nine minutes past six in the morning, the fog stopped moving.
This was a minute change in the pace. Eleven years of fog watching does things to you and this was actually going to be useful.
