'That's Huffington!' he muttered to the Doctor. 'I'd know him anywhere. Sandringham and - '

The Doctor shook his head. 'Sorry, Brigadier. Not Huffington any more.'

The Major had stood up, was staring at them with piercing grey eyes. As they drew closer, he saluted. The Brigadier automatically saluted in return, almost spoke aloud.

Then he remembered, set his face in a neutral expression and stepped forward between Huffington's 'men', walked through the open gate.

The aliens didn't move. He walked along the driveway towards the building, heard the footsteps of the squad as they followed him.

There was a guard at the front door. The Brigadier recognized the man, Private Sh.o.r.egood. The Private saluted; again the Brigadier returned the salute. The Xarax copy stepped aside.

The Brigadier released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then stepped through the door.

'Where to, Doctor?' he muttered.

'They'll be in the lab, I should think. That's where they set up first time, wasn't it?'

The Brigadier nodded, led the way through the maze of corridors to the Doctor's lab. The men followed, their boots thudding heavily on the lino.

The lab door was open. Inside was a white wall, about a yard from the door. The Brigadier stared for a moment, puzzled.

The Doctor appeared between the wall and the door, stared at him.

Not the Doctor.

The Brigadier drew his revolver, fired.

The copy, apparently unaffected by the shot, stepped forward.

'Brigadier, no!' The Doctor's voice. But which one?

The Doctor jumped forward, and suddenly the two Doctors, copy and original, were wrestling against the white wall in the laboratory.

The Brigadier stared. He really didn't know which was which.

A movement to his left: Jo.

Not Jo. But wearing Jo's blue T-shirt and brown slacks, smiling like Jo.

Someone pushed him aside: the Brigadier just had time to recognize Corporal Marks before he was half-deafened by automatic gunfire. The copy of Jo bent over, as if walking against a storm, then slowly crumpled back. There was no blood.

The gunfire stopped. The Brigadier saw cracks spreading across the skin and clothes of the copy-Jo, a honey-like fluid oozing out.

Obviously they'd had to remake themselves as less realistic copies in order to be less vulnerable to attack, thought the Brigadier. He stored the fact away in case it came in useful.

The two Doctors were still wrestling. One had pinned the other against the white wall, a knee to his neck. The pinned one's face slowly turned blue.

Vulnerable: therefore the original, thought the Brigadier. Got you.

'Marks! Benton!' he shouted. 'Get the one standing up!'

The standing Doctor whirled, shouted, 'No!' - but Benton had already opened fire. The figure crumpled back, bloodless, then slowly disintegrated.

When the firing had stopped, the real Doctor stood up. He rubbed his throat a couple of times, then said, 'You know, I wish you hadn't done that.'

'But Doctor -' began the Brigadier.

'But sir, he was killing -' began Benton at the same time.

'If you hadn't fired at him in the first place we might have been able to negotiate something! Now you'll have the whole nest on to us!'

'I'm sorry, Doctor, but I couldn't take the chance,' said the Brigadier. There was a clattering of chitin in the distance: a hollow, not-quite-human sound. 'Now get in there and do what you have to do. The men and I will hold them off.' He signalled to Benton to prepare a defensive position; the Sergeant nodded acknowledgement.

But the Doctor was still holding on to his arm. 'Look, Brigadier, what I had in mind depended on those two being alive. They were intelligent. I needed to talk to them.'

'Sir!' Benton's voice. The Brigadier looked up, saw the figures of Sh.o.r.egood and others rushing down the corridor towards them.

Benton fired, and his men joined in. The figures dropped. The Brigadier smiled to himself.

'Like shooting clay pigeons!' he said, turning to the Doctor.

But the Doctor was gone.

Reluctantly, the Brigadier stepped into the lab, over the broken, inhuman bodies of the false Doctor and Jo.

That was when he saw what the wall of white was.

At the far end of the lab, attached to the end of the 'wall' and crushed up against the TARDIS, was an insect head. It was about eight feet high; the antennae were pressed against the ceiling. The white wall was its body: now that the Brigadier had time to look, he saw the crushed remnants of lab benches and gla.s.sware under it.

He took a few steps forward in the narrow gap between the vast alien and the wall and saw the Doctor kneeling with his head quite literally between the huge jaws.

'Doctor?'

There was no reply. The Brigadier took a step closer, saw that the Doctor had his hands cupped in front of his mouth.

Beads of honey were falling from the creature, and the Doctor was catching them in his hands and eating them.

'Honey honey -' he murmured '- sweet sweet build nest honey good to build good to be dancing - '

So you're not the real one either, thought the Brigadier. He raised his revolver once more, took aim at the Doctor's head.

- honey honey good to be sweet honey honey honey good to be sweet honey - - Yes, thought Jo. Take me to it. Take me to the best - - honey sweet to be dancing honey sweet to be dancing - - The best there is. The queen. Come on, you can do it.

A faint whiff of scent. Jo was fairly sure her human senses would never have noticed it, but the Xarax-attuned part of her picked it up, told her: turn left.

She turned the corner, found herself on a wide, three-lane highway.

Crashed cars were everywhere. A metal sign on a post announced: 'Boulevard Abdul Gamal Na.s.ser'. A little way down the road was a huge building that reminded Jo a little of the Brighton Pavilion.

Huge, white onion-domes, gilded cupolas on flat roofs in between.

She remembered it from the guide book she'd read at UNIT HQ: it was the People's Palace, the official residence of the Kebirian Prime Minister. The whiff of scent returned, and Jo knew she had to go into it.

It's bound to be guarded, she thought.

She walked confidently across the highway, her arms hanging loosely by her side, the way she'd seen the Xarax copies walk.

Go in as if you owned the place, she thought. Don't talk to anyone.

Don't even think anything except - - honey honey sweet sweet good to be honey to be dancing sweet honey honey sweet sweet good to be honey to be dancing sweet sweet good good sweet good good - - There were no guards at the huge metal gate. Jo reached out, pushed. The gate swung silently back.

Inside the grounds Jo saw the first sign of activity: a huge heap of earth on one of the lawns, with the crudely carved beginnings of access tunnels.

The new nest.

- sweet to be honey dancing sweet build nest good to be honey sweet to be honey dancing sweet build nest good to be honey dancing go nest build dancing dancing go nest build dancing - - With difficulty Jo tore herself away. She had to find the queen.

Following instinct, she left the driveway, crossed the still-untouched east lawn towards the largest of the pearl-white onion-domes. There was a large ragged hole in the wall facing her. Loose brickwork was visible under the broken plaster and gilt.

This was the new entrance. It had to be. She walked up to it, feeling oddly secure. The same Xarax instinct that had guided her here told her that she was safe now, she was -

- honey dancing nest dancing good good dancing the code honey dancing nest dancing good good dancing the code dancing the code dancing the code - - Inside the nest, small, spider-like weaver units were slowly uncoiling the fabric of the building, turning it into something more suitable for the Xarax. Jo watched their intricate ballet for a moment, then shook her head as she remembered her mission.

The queen.

Down, said her instincts. She found a ragged hole in the floor with crude steps leading down, down to sweet sweet honey honey down to down to sweet sweet honey honey down to be good good honey dancing to be sweet to be honey dancing be good good honey dancing to be sweet to be honey dancing and Jo was dancing down the steps. She was sure she was right. This was better than any feeling she'd had before, better than coming home. and Jo was dancing down the steps. She was sure she was right. This was better than any feeling she'd had before, better than coming home.

Be careful, said Aunt May.

Jo felt a quiver of unease as she saw the amber globes of honey hanging from the ceiling, the others that still looked slightly human lying on the ground. The queen was here somewhere, wasn't it?

Someone had told her that, surely? She hesitated at the side of the chamber, then saw something that made up her mind.

A little, bespectacled man in a lab coat, smiling at her. Doctor Zalloua.

'Miss Grant! How wonderful that you could make it after all!' he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. 'I'm so sorry about all that business with the gun, I really am. It was so unnecessary. I see that now.' He paused, smiled broadly. 'I see everything now. I am reborn.

As you will be, shortly.'

- reborn to be honey to be sweet sweet to be perfect to be good to reborn to be honey to be sweet sweet to be perfect to be good to be happy to be dancing the code dancing the code dancing the code be happy to be dancing the code dancing the code dancing the code - Jo smiled, let the little man lead her to a vacant patch of soil between two of the half-made honey globes. The tendrils of the honey maker awaited her, twitching slightly in antic.i.p.ation of the feast. Jo lay back, looked around her.

Saw a face she recognized next to her. A face stretched out of all proportion, above cracked skin leaking honey. A face topped by the tattered remains of blonde hair.

Catriona Talliser's face.

Jo stared, as Zalloua pushed her back towards the honey maker.

'No -' she muttered.

- honey to be good good sweet to be reborn to be perfect to be honey to be good good sweet to be reborn to be perfect to be happy good good dancing honey dancing the code dancing the code happy good good dancing honey dancing the code dancing the code -

Catriona's eyes rolled to meet hers, and one of them closed in a grotesque parody of a wink.

Jo screamed.

Twenty-Nine.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you, Brigadier.'

The Doctor hadn't even looked round; his head was still between the jaws of the huge Xarax whose body filled the lab. The Brigadier held on to the gun, wondered if you could shoot a chap in the middle of arguing with him. Eventually he said, 'Why not, Doctor?'

'Because I think I'd find it rather difficult to work out the codon sequence for the pheromonal control system of the Xarax with a hole in my head.'

The Brigadier still didn't let go of the gun. There was another fusillade of shots from outside the lab, and one of the men shouted something.

'How do I know that's what you're doing?' asked the Brigadier.

'How do I know you're not working with them, like the other one?'

The Doctor stood up, slowly, turned to face the Brigadier. His fingers were sticky with honey; he wiped them on a handkerchief, then smiled. 'You don't,' he said. 'But in twenty minutes or so, if that American chap was right, it isn't going to make any difference. So I suggest you let me get on with it.'