Free Big Bang Generation by Gary Russell Page A

buff guy in shorts and ‘thongs’ (definitely not flip-flops), were standing in front of him.
    ‘Look mate if you don’t like ’Stralia, go back home, you Irish ponce.’
    The Doctor stared at him and heard himself say, ‘Scottish ponce, actually,’ then wondered why. After all, he was Gallifreyan, it wasn’t his fault that he had ended up with a particular distinctive human accent. Perhaps oneday he’d get an Aussie accent (but which one, AuE, Strine or…shudder…bogan?)
    He slapped the side of his head. ‘Focus. I really should focus,’ he said to the two Australians then marched past them as if they simply weren’t annoying him any more.
    He was then aware that he was being carefully watched. He checked, made sure nothing else could be interesting this stranger, but no, it was definitely him being watched. Observed might have been a better word. An indigenous male, tall, dark, dressed in a white shirt and chinos. The man smiled at the Doctor, nodded, then turned and just seemed to melt into the crowd. Weird, the Doctor decided, but not a priority because he had to find this ‘Jack’ person.
    Focus.
    Yes! There was a café-bar. He stopped. It was called the White Rabbit, and sure enough had green umbrellas outside.
    The White Rabbit?
    Like the place on Legion.
    Or the pub on the Thames Embankment.
    Or the bar on Bedrock 12.
    Or…
    The Doctor stood outside and stared in. It was utterly deserted. The only café place in the whole area not heaving. Indeed, bearing in mind how many people were queuing to get into the other places, it seemed weird that this was empty.
    ‘Shimmer,’ he muttered, wondering what everyone else saw this building as.
    He scanned the ground. Sure enough, the Shimmer control was down to the right, near an umbrella. To anyone else, he assumed, he was walking into a closed-off shop or something.
    ‘That’s a lot of effort,’ he called into the empty place. ‘Why not just leave it as it really is?’
    ‘There are a lot of buildings being done up around here,’ replied someone new. ‘Thought this might be more appealing.’
    ‘There are a lot of coffee shops too,’ the Doctor retorted. ‘You didn’t think that would be equally confusing?’
    ‘Ah, but how many of them are called the White Rabbit?’
    ‘Why didn’t your goons just say that? Looking for the Rabbit would have been a lot easier than looking for a place with green umbrellas.’
    ‘Because,’ said Ruth who was suddenly beside him, staring angrily into the empty café, ‘it wasn’t called the White Rabbit when we left. Idiot.’
    ‘I’m not an—’
    ‘Not you,’ she snapped at the Doctor. ‘Him. In there.’
    The small guy in the grey hoodie was now standing on the other side of the Doctor. ‘Get what you deserve in this life, Ruth,’ he said.
    And as he stepped past the Doctor, he flicked his hoodie down and the Doctor saw him for what he was. In many respects, he was just a smallish teenaged boy, maybe 17 or 18. What marked him out as more than a bit unusual was that instead of human ears, he had ears like those on a Doberman pinscher or Rottweiler coming from closeto his crown, and his nose was more of a snubby canine snout. His irises were pitch black and the Doctor caught a glimpse of some very animalistic teeth as he grimaced going forward. His hands were quite human, although very matted with downy, mottled fur and in one hand he carried a small blaster – presumably the one he’d pushed into the Doctor’s back. His trousers were army combats, but wrapped around each thigh were straps with pouches and holsters. This lad was armed to the teeth and the Doctor didn’t try to imagine what weaponry was under the hoodie, or concealed elsewhere.
    The final surprise of the day (or so the Doctor hoped) was Jack. He emerged from the shadows, ignoring the stroppy teenager, and wandered over to hug Ruth. ‘Awww Ruthie, I loves ya!’ He cocked his head and winked at the Doctor. ‘Wotcha.’
    The Doctor