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used to Butcher’s tirades during their daily conferences by now, but he wasn’t. He didn’t appreciate being yelled at for things beyond his control and he didn’t imagine anyone ever did. Every time the man lost his temper, he directed his anger at Stone. Shouting was only the first stage of the commander’s anger. The man would quickly change into stomping around a room, spittle flying, eyes red, and fists clenched. The next step involved throwing things, never at anyone, just throwing anything not welded onto the deck.
    The XO, LTSG Bhutros, seemed to sleep through Butcher’s fits of rage as if they weren’t happening. The planetary staff attending the conferences politely ignored the tirades. No reports of his temper tantrums ever made it into the daily logs. Someone even thoughtfully and carefully scrubbed all video records. Stone’s only proof of how he was harangued was located on his personal assistant. Recordings were running constantly since he and his drasco’s had boarded the UEN Vasco de Gama.
    Stone understood Butcher’s assignment frustrations. Neither he nor the commander was happy about going to Allie’s World. An explorer third class wasn’t a combat vessel and Butcher hadn’t earned his combat command red stripe. Butcher far outranked the lowest ranking ensign in the navy, yet having said ensign wear a combat command stripe while you didn’t, might drive a normal person to the ragged edge of rage. But, it wasn’t right to take it out on him.
    MCPO Thomas had caught him filling out an official complaint and stopped him. Thomas explained Butcher’s anger wasn’t all about the red combat command stripe, some, but not all. Butcher’s first ship command had been a higher rated vessel than the Vasco de Gama. Taking command of an explorer third class was a step backward. Backward meant Butcher’s career, while not over, had peaked. The man couldn’t take his frustration out on the enlisted, not his own crew or the crew in transit to Allie’s World. As a ship commander, Butcher couldn’t exercise his emotional overloads on the other ship’s officers. They were in his chain of command and he needed a close working relationship with his XO and his chief engineer.
    All the planetary staff was under Stone’s authority, as was 1LT Hammermill, the marine platoon officer, so Butcher certainly couldn’t vent his frustration at any of the sixty-four marines on board or the civilian scientists. Dr. Mohamed, a planetologist, was in charge of the scientific staff and acting as his assistant was Dr. Triplett, the xeno-biologist intent on dissecting his drascos. Both of the civilians already evidenced a remarkable distaste for all things military. A naval officer verbally berating any Emperor appointed scientist would evaporate Butcher’s career.
    Stone was shocked to learn his orders made him the overall ground commander on Allie’s World, not for just the navy, but the civilians, the medical corps, and the marine security contingent—a full company of marines, 260 men counting officers. Three of the four marine platoons were already on Allie’s World, the fourth platoon led by 1LT Hammermill was with him in transit. Once on the planet, he would have to file all reports through his communications staff led by none other than the overly sexy PO3 Tammie Ryte to the Vasco de Gama and LCDR Butcher in orbital overwatch.
    Butcher wasn’t his supervisor, just the channel for his reports. Stone’s direct supervisor was the commander-in-chief himself, the Emperor. He couldn’t blame the Emperor for scrubbing away the tradition navy chain of command. Stone had done it to himself. Upon discovery of the planet, he’d taken a sixty-five percent ownership, giving twenty-five percent to Danielle Wright and offering only ten percent to the Emperor. The Emperor wasn’t a dummy. He may be the minority owner of Allie’s World, but he’d managed to place himself in overall control of the exploitation of the