He alternated between staring out of the unshuttered viewscreen at the stars behind the invisible wormhole facing his ship and staring down at the control panel's hyper-space monitor that gave him an unprecedented revealing view of the same spacetime anomaly. The one-man ship was motionless in normspace at this point, because to now reactivate the spacedrive that brought him here would be an irrevocable decision. And he was not yet ready to decide.
So while waiting for whatever stimulus he needed to make up his mind, he couldn't help but review the events that brought him to this precipice.
The reassignment order hit like a blast from a nerve disruptor, except with travel passes attached. He was to be the new laundry officer at Lazkowski Base, also known as Camp Permafrost, in a hellish place called Kyril Island, right up against the arctic circle of Barrayar. Winter training base for the infantry.
No, no, NO! God, NO! This has to be some horrible error!
But his meeting with his commanding officer proved otherwise. The CO was sincerely sympathetic and also clearly had nothing to do with the reassignment. The order was stamped BY IMPERIAL DECREE.
Which could only mean one of two things: either Lord Imperial Auditor Vorkosigan had managed to get rid of his romance rival directly, or the vile mutant had persuaded his foster brother Emperor Gregor Vorbarra to do the nasty deed for him.
Of course there would be no farewell celebration. This was neither a promotion nor a lateral move to a more desirable billet. A demotion to ensign while remaining posted to Operations HQ in Vorbarr Sultana would be far preferable.
Camp Permafrost's newest acquisition shook his former CO's hand, gave one last sharp salute, and departed to clear out his desk and head for home. The tears didn't flow until he was safely alone in his apartment.
His next meeting was bracing, to put it mildly. His uncle came at him not as his Count, but as retired Colonel Boriz Vormoncrief, former grunt commander.
"You really screwed the pooch on this one, boy. You should have accepted that widow's answer when she sent your Baba back with 'No, thank you.' I don't think I need to tell to you that this ends your political aspirations, at least for the foreseeable future."
"No, sir. I'd pretty much figured that out by the time the initial shock wore off. I just ... I didn't see this coming!"
"Hmm ... Neither did I. Which troubles me some. If the Progressives are striking at all levels of us ... no, I suspect this was personal. It isn't just Vorkosigan; the woman's uncle is an Imperial Auditor as well, you know. Attempting to force her to your side by coming at her through her son was a foolish thing to do."
The younger man sighed. "I know. Hell, I knew it even then. But I was desperate to be married. You know how awkward I am at this whole political business. Marriage is mandatory to move onward and upward in politics, and the shortage of available Vor ladies is maddening."
His uncle's face gave a brief sign of sympathy before hardening again. "I still think you made a big mistake by not pursuing your calling as a tech officer. My god, you're the most gifted member of the family with math and science in generations! You'd be a captain by now if you'd chosen that career option."
Lieutenant Lord Alexi Vormoncrief let through as much consternation as he dared at this point, which was hardly any at all. "Tech officers don't get posted to Vorbarr Sultana, Uncle! I can hardly pursue a political career as you and Father urged whilst I'm supervising repairs at some equipment depot in Komarran space or designing bigger and better gravitic imploders at Vorkraft Base.
"And I was good at Ops HQ! I was, sir!"
"Yes, you did your job well. God knows I would have heard all about it if my nephew was just sliding by on Vor-lordling status." Neither seemed to realize that Vor-lordling sliding had largely become myth in recent years. With non-Vor officers now given as many career opportunities as the Vors, and therefore becoming as much a career hazard to the Vor officers as ghem-lord weapons aimed at them, those who were willing to slide by mainly on Vor status often soon found themselves back in civilian life, where the competition was often even fiercer.
The Count drained the last of the wine in his glass and waited until Alexi had taken another token sip from his. "Now listen carefully, Alexi. What I tell you here and now may just save your ass. I was head of two infantry training commands to Camp Permafrost, so I know the place. Find that attitude you had back in your first year at the Imperial Academy and hold it close and don't let go of it. Keep your eyes and ears open and your opinions to yourself. The place you're going would love to stick it to a trapped Vor officer, and in as many ways as possible.
"Next thing, download a copy of the Lazkowski Base Regulations before you leave this city. Read it, then read it again. At least half the questions you'll ever have about that hellhole are answered right there in the manual, and better than you're likely to get from anybody on staff, even assuming they're willing to give you a straightforward answer."
Then, as if he didn't quite trust his street-foolish nephew to follow his advice, Count Vormoncrief went on to warn about the deceptive-and-deadly quasi-frozen mud pools, the deceptive-and-deadly wah-wahs, and the even more deceptive-and-deadly alcoholism that afflicted more than half of the permanent military staff posted at the top of the world.
"Only two types of officers ever get permanently posted to Camp Permafrost: the unlucky and the unloved. You, the most recently unloved, have just made one of the unlucky very happy by getting him reassigned closer to the equator, if not off-world altogether. But you'll survive this if you stay smart about the place."
"Thanks, Uncle, I appreciate your advice."
The advice he got from his widowed mother was valuable as well. "It is said that the Chinese symbol for crisis is also the symbol for opportunity, Alexi. This may prove the perfect chance for you to get your degree in whichever science field currently holds your heart. The University of Vorbarr Sultana offers an on-line campus for all officers stationed on Barrayar. I know you didn't have much time here, with your Ops duties ... and other demands on your time." She hated the political demands her late husband and her brother-in-law had put on her son, but had kept her silence. Until now. "I imagine your duties as laundry officer will afford you more free time for studying, especially during the summer lulls."
"Thank you, Mother, I appreciate your advice."