The Legends of Forever Barry Lyga (mystery books to read .TXT) 📖

Oliver stiffened and went for his bow. “I don’t care what year we’re in,” he snapped. “No one points a weapon at me.”

Superman drifted between Green Arrow’s bow and the woman hovering above them all. “It’s not a weapon,” he said, and spread his hands out in a show of peace. “It’s a chronometric scanner.” Then, to the woman, “We mean no harm and are happy to allow you to finish your scan.”

Barry did a double take at the sound of flawless Interlac coming from Superman’s mouth.

“Superman speaks Future,” Oliver said as the Man of Steel conversed with the floating woman. And then, muttered under his breath: “Of course he speaks Future.”

Superman turned back to Oliver and Barry and smiled broadly. “Gentlemen, this is Science Police Officer Cusimano. She was scrambled here because our entry into the thirty-first century caused a spike in tachyon emissions, so she had to investigate.”

“Wait, thirty-first century?” Barry asked. “Not the thirtieth?”

“Yes. And we’re fortunate. I have . . . friends here.”

The three of them followed Science Police Officer Cusimano down a broad boulevard to a plaza created by its intersection with another wide road. Road might have been a misnomer, Barry thought. In the future, vehicles seemed mostly confined to the skies; the ground was for pedestrians and a surfeit of robots in all different shapes, colors, and configurations. Barry tried not to gawk at some of the citizens casually ambling along the pathway—in addition to average humans, there was a mind-boggling assortment of alien beings. He saw eyes on protracted stalks, wavering antennae, hands with too many fingers, arms with too many hands. Insectoid carapaces and sluglike tails dragged behind.

“Are you seeing this?” he whispered to Oliver.

Oliver rolled his eyes with a forbearing expression. “Don’t be a rube, Barry.”

“A problem with aliens, gentlemen?” Superman asked.

“Some of my best friends are aliens,” Barry retorted. “I’m just not accustomed to seeing so many, so open.”

“By the thirty-first century, Earth has become a hub of interstellar commerce and politics,” Superman told them. “The population is something like 22 percent extraterrestrial.”

Barry and Oliver exchanged a quizzical look. “You seem to know an awful lot about the future,” Oliver said.

Superman nodded. “I used to travel to the future often when I was a boy. I joined the . . . Ah! Here!”

The plaza opened up before them. Hovering twenty feet above them was a silvery structure. As with all the buildings, it had no square corners or windows of any sort. It was just a polished, gleaming construct, seemingly molded out of a single block of pliable alloy. It had the vague shape of a chair missing its seat, with a relatively narrow “back” topped with a saucerlike piece, then two long “arms” stretching out from either side.

“This is it,” Superman said. “The headquarters of the Legion of Super-Heroes.”

“Wait a second,” Barry said. This made no sense. Kara had told him about the Legion—a veritable army of teenage superheroes from the far-flung future. Her onetime boyfriend, Mon-El, had been a member of the group, and her friend Brainiac 5 was as well, “on loan” to the past.

But that was on Earth 38.

“We’re in the future of Earth 1,” Barry pointed out. “How can the Legion be here?”

Superman opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, musing for a few seconds before shrugging with one shoulder, his expression placid and unconcerned. “Good question. Let’s go figure that out.”

After thanking Officer Cusimano for the escort, they stepped into the massive shadow cast by the building, striding under its enormous bulk. Oliver and Barry gazed upward at the underside of the building. They were only a tiny bit concerned that it might come crashing down on them.

“Perfectly safe,” Superman assured them.

A moment later, a cylinder of yellow light descended from the bottom of the building, levitating the three of them up and into a door that irised open in the floor. Once inside, they hung in space for a moment as the door closed, then were gently deposited on the floor.

Barry was somewhat familiar with the architecture from his previous visit to the future, but the reality of it still stunned him. It could best be described as in-your-face minimalism, with blank walls in garish hues. The vestibule into which they’d been levitated was a bright blue color, with seams visible along the walls. Barry knew that those seemingly dull, blank walls could actually turn transparent to provide a sight line to the outside, as well as project holograms anywhere in the room.

“This is the future.” Oliver put his hands on his hips and turned a slow circle, scrutinizing the decor. “Cleaner than I imagined.”

“It’s been a thousand years of progress,” Superman reminded him. “A lot has changed. People are much more refined and—”

“Holy crap!” a voice called.

Along with Superman and Green Arrow, Barry spun at the sound of the voice and was shocked to see a familiar figure standing there. A short, dark-haired man in his twenties, wearing typical twenty-first-century garb—striped dress shirt, loose sweater-vest, jeans—regarded the three of them with a surprised expression on his face.

“Winn?” Barry exclaimed. “Winn Schott?”

Winn Schott was a twenty-first-century type like the three heroes, a denizen of Earth 38 and one of Supergirl’s very best friends. He was a genius-level hacker and engineer who’d helped the DEO face off against any number of threats.

“Superman!” Winn exclaimed. “Flash! Green Arrow! Wow!”

Tucking a very slender tablet under one arm, he ran to them, pumping Superman’s hand in excitement, embracing Barry . . .

“No hugs,” Oliver told him.

“I wasn’t even gonna try,” Winn assured him. “Do you fist-bump, sir?” He held up his fist questioningly.

Oliver sighed and dapped Winn’s offered knuckles, which made Winn cackle in glee. “I fist-bumped Green Arrow. This is definitely going on my blog.”

“Blogs are still a thing in the thirty-first century?” Barry asked.

“Not so much. But I’m trying to make them cool again. Along with Katy Perry music, the sartorial splendor that is the sweater-vest, and the films of David Lynch.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially