The Captain's blue eyes swung to focus on the Brigadier. Then glanced at the Doctor.

'He's safe,' said the Brigadier automatically.

'If the Xarax continue to improve their capability at the present rate, I'd say we have four hours before it becomes impossible to defend this base.'

'And then?'

'If we lose here, Admiral Carver will use the tactical nuclear capability on the Eisenhower Eisenhower to destroy the main Xarax bases.' to destroy the main Xarax bases.'

'Madness, sheer madness,' muttered the Doctor.

The Brigadier thought swiftly. If Rabat was out as Oakley had said, then the UNIT base there wasn't going to be any help. The best bet would be to get back to England. He could get in touch with the Ministry; he could contact New York and try to get the Secretary-General's support over the H-bomb business, and plan some kind of strategy. Perhaps the Doctor would think of something.

'Can you spare us a couple of fighters for escort?' he asked the American.

The man pursed his lips, said, 'Only as far as the coast. Then you're on your own.'

'Right.' The Brigadier glanced at his watch. 'Take off in ten minutes?'

The Marine shrugged. 'Whatever you think best, Brigadier.'

The Brigadier turned to go, but the Doctor stopped in the doorway and addressed the American. 'Captain, have you got any rosewater on the base?'

'Rosewater?' asked Oakley incredulously.

'Yes - and oil of cloves.'

'Well, we might have a little of that in the kitchen stores but I don't see - '

'Never mind.' The Doctor was already on his way out of the office.

'I dare say that they can get hold of some for us in England.'

'Doctor, what are you talking about?' asked the Brigadier.

'Brigadier,' said the Doctor impatiently. 'When we get back to England we're going to have barely more than an hour to get inside UNIT HQ and disable the Xarax that you so carelessly left to take charge there. And I can only think of one way that we're going to be able to do that.'

The Brigadier raised an eyebrow. 'Which is?'

'Protective camouflage, Brigadier.'

'But I don't see - '

'It's not a matter of seeing, Brigadier. It's a matter of smelling.' He smiled. 'To be exact, smelling of roses and cloves.'

Twenty-Eight.

At the first sound, Sergeant Benton flung himself flat on to the damp earth. He didn't need to tell his men to do the same. Everything bigger than a squirrel that moved in the wood had been an alien, and each one had been more difficult to kill than the last. The squad had been forced back, step by step, from Henley Wood across the road to Marsh Wood; now, after perhaps a dozen encounters, they were almost in Marshstead, two miles from UNIT HQ.

Soon they were going to run out of ammunition.

This time it sounded like a large force. Benton could hear the regular, multiple tread of boots on gravel, growing louder by the minute. Obviously they were on the Marshstead bridleway.

He frowned. The aliens hadn't bothered much with using paths up till now; and they hadn't moved in large groups either.

Suddenly he heard a voice muttering, 'What d'you reckon the place is burned down when we get there?'

A human voice, speaking in a human way.

Benton glanced across at Marks, who nodded.

'I'm going to take a look,' said Benton. He thought: steady on, you can't be sure, that copy of the Doctor could speak.

He moved as silently as he could across the soil, up a shallow slope towards the hedge that bordered the path. The patrol on the other side was almost level with him now.

He peered through the hedge, saw movement.

Camouflage jackets. A glimpse of a grenade belt. A cape, a magenta shirt.

A cape -?

The Doctor!

Another copy, thought Benton. It had to be.

At the same moment, he smelt roses and cloves. He levelled his gun, took aim through a gap in the hedge.

Then he heard a voice: 'My missus, she says I ought to get out of the Army, like - '

Benton relaxed, grinned to himself. Aliens weren't likely to grumble like that! He stood up, saw the Doctor, the Brigadier, and a platoon of regulars.

Heads turned, guns were raised. The Brigadier looked round, raised an eyebrow. 'Benton!' he called. 'What the blazes are you doing?'

'Be careful, Brigadier.' The Doctor's voice. 'It might not be Benton at all.'

Benton turned, stared at the Doctor. 'Of course it's me - '

'Take your cap off, Sergeant,' said the Doctor quietly.

'My cap?' Benton was bewildered. Then he remembered the Xarax copies, their clothes cracking with the rest of their bodies as they fell.

He took off his cap, tossed it to the Doctor, who felt the cloth for a moment, then nodded.

'Okay, Brigadier.'

Only then did Benton turn to his commanding officer. He was just in time to see the Brigadier lowering his revolver and putting it back in its holster.

They stared at each other for a moment. After a while, Benton said, 'Good to see you alive again, sir.'

Jo peered into the windows of the cafe where Vincent's resistance movement had its headquarters. There was no movement, no sound.

She pushed at the door, went inside. The red check tablecloths were spread across the tables, neat, clean. Salt and pepper shakers stood in the middle of the tables. Nothing stirred, except a few flies buzzing round the ceiling.

'h.e.l.lo,' called Jo. 'h.e.l.lo! I'm human! I need help!'

Silence.

'I come from Vincent Tayid! Al Tayid! Al Tayid! ' '

A fly buzzed angrily against the window. Automatically, Jo began to look around for a cup and piece of paper so that she could catch it and set it free. She even went over to the counter, to see if she could see a teacup behind it.

Then she realized what she was doing, sat down and began to laugh hysterically.

When she'd laughed long enough, she stood up, put her hands on her hips, and muttered, 'I've got to do something.' She peered out into the empty street, almost hoping that someone or something would go past. She'd twice seen the Xarax 'police' since she'd started running; both times they'd seemed to ignore her. Either tracking down stray humans wasn't a high priority at the moment - which didn't seem likely, considering what had happened to Zalloua - or - Jo looked at her swollen hands. They smelled of roses and cloves.

Of Xarax. And her feet were swollen too: she could barely walk in her shoes, the prison officer's shoes that had once been almost too big for her.

- good good to be honey honey sweet sweet honey dancing to be good good to be honey honey sweet sweet honey dancing to be honey to be sweet dancing the code honey to be sweet dancing the code - - It was there. She had to do something about it. The Doctor wasn't around to cure her. She was going to have to find the nest, somehow.

Get to the queen, and control her, as Zalloua had hoped to do.

But how?

She sat down on one of the chairs, put her chin in her hands. There had to be a way.

Then she thought of it. If she smelled of Xarax, if she knew, or felt, what the Xarax were doing, then - Except that it might not work. And if it didn't work, she was going to end up dead.

No - worse than dead.

- sweet sweet to be good good honey honey to be dancing sweet sweet to be good good honey honey to be dancing - - She got up, walked out of the cafe, and sniffed the air.

- honey honey good good sweet to find honey dancing to find honey honey good good sweet to find honey dancing to find good good sweet sweet honey dancing good good sweet sweet honey dancing - - After a few moments, she chose a direction and started down the street. She remembered what Vincent had said about her: 'You have the luck.'

Well, the luck had better not desert her now.

The Brigadier glanced over his shoulder to where Sergeant Osgood was spraying the last of Benton's men with the Xarax scent - on the move, because there was no time to stop. There were about forty-five minutes left before Captain Oakley's deadline; but the Brigadier knew that the Marine had been guessing. For all he knew Al Haraf might already have fallen and the Americans and the Xarax might be lobbing nuclear warheads around the Gulf of Kebiria.

It wasn't a pleasant thought.

He looked ahead to where the Doctor was strolling along, looking up at the crowns of the trees above him for all the world as if he was enjoying a quiet country walk.

'Ah, Brigadier,' he said, without turning round. 'Have you noticed any cows in the fields?'

The Brigadier frowned. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Cows - sheep - and there used to be some horses.' The Doctor pointed. 'Over there.' He turned and looked at the Brigadier, a serious expression on his face. 'It looks as if the nest has been growing more quickly than we thought.'

The Brigadier considered this for a moment, frowned. 'Are you quite sure we shouldn't call up that armoured brigade? I could have them here in five minutes - '

'Really, Brigadier. How many times do I have to explain it? If we use any kind of vehicle the Xarax will know straight away we're not from the nest and they'll attack us. Do you imagine they'll think diesel fumes are a nest pheromone? Believe me, this is the only way in.

And I need the nest intact, not blown to pieces by your men.'

The Brigadier shook his head. 'If you say so, Doctor.'

'Sir!' said Benton, pointing forward.

The Brigadier looked, saw UNIT HQ about half a mile away through a gap in the trees. Saw the ring of men - Xarax copies of men, he corrected himself - surrounding it.

'Doesn't look too promising,' he muttered.

But the Doctor smiled. 'Just carry on, Brigadier. Walk in as if you owned the place.'

The Brigadier thought about this for a moment. 'I do own the place,' he said. 'In a manner of speaking.'

'Well, then. Walk in like you usually do.'

The Brigadier marched a little faster and tried to put a confident expression on his face; then remembered the neutral faces of the Xarax copies and tried to copy that.

As the squad drew closer to the gate the Brigadier saw a man in a major's uniform sitting in a canvas chair with a pipe and a cup of tea.