Rather than a holo projection of the sort the Legion’s Intel people would put together, it was a handcrafted model reminiscent of those that military leaders had employed thousands of years before. What looked like a small mountain had been painstakingly texturized to make it look real. Miniature fortifications could be seen, and a very convincing paint job had been applied to all of the component parts, including hundreds of miniature trees.

As Santana circled the table, Antov offered a running narration. “The mountain didn’t have a name until the bugs landed six months ago. Now we call it Headstone, because that’s where more than a thousand of our citizens are buried,” Antov said grimly. “That may not sound like a lot to you. Not given the millions who have been killed during the war. But it’s a large number for us. The planet had a population of about sixty thousand people before the war began.”

Santana looked up. “Was that the total population? Or the human population?”

“I don’t know,” Antov admitted. “It’s hard to say how many sticks live out in the bush.”

“Sticks?”

“We call them ‘sticks’ because they look like sticks,” Antov said irritably. “What difference does it make?”

Santana looked over to where Heedu was standing with his back to the wall. He was more visible now that the officer knew what to look for. The O-Chi was wearing a brown fez, matching vest, and a breechcloth. Heedu didn’t have a facial expression as far as Santana could tell. Although he had spent enough time with nonhumans to know that such perceptions were almost always wrong. Most species employed some sort of nonverbal communications. “The number of O-Chies could be important,” Santana said mildly. “It is their planet after all.”

Antov produced a snort of derision. “Please, Major… Spare me the social nonsense. This is war. We don’t have the time or resources to count indigs, initiate assimilation projects, or conduct anthropological studies. I suggest that you focus your attention on the task at hand.”