Hawkgirl Kendra, unaware that Thea was silently roasting her in her head, smiled politely.
"You didn't get off the ship. Did you need something from me?"
"Oh, I definitely do."
Thea nodded, fishing in her pack. Ever since she'd found that mysterious Orb of Horus on Lian Yu, the dense carvings all over its golden surface had been driving her mad. She'd spent days cross-referencing ancient scripts, only to conclude that most of the text had been lost to history.
Luckily, there were three people alive (or semi-alive) who might still recognize it:
the high priest of ancient Egypt, Vandal Savage;
the temple maiden Chay-Ara—now reincarnated as Hawkgirl Kendra;
and the prince Khufu, known today as Hawkman.
Vandal, of course, would never talk to her.
Hawkman was dead—again—and even if he weren't, Thea had zero interest in dealing with him. The man had once been Pharaoh Khufu, best known for building Egypt's biggest pyramid. History's verdict? Vain, self-important, and dumb as stone.
So that left the sweet, harmless Kendra.
With a spark of hope, Thea pulled out the orb and placed it in Kendra's hands.
"Here—ever seen this before?"
Kendra examined the object carefully. It was about thirty centimeters long, forged of solid gold, topped with a glowing red gem. She hefted it once and blinked.
"Um… is this a hammer?"
"Pfft—!" Thea nearly spat blood. "A hammer?! Are you—what—how—?"
Realizing she'd said something wrong, Kendra quickly waved her hands in apology.
"Sorry! You probably don't know—I was a café waitress six months ago. I'm not really… you know, a weapons person."
Oh, Thea knew. That was painfully obvious.
Hawkman's brilliant idea of "combat training" for his wife apparently involved nothing more than, 'Spread your wings, fly straight at the enemy, and bonk them on the head with a mallet.'
That was it. No tactics, no finesse—just bonk.
Thea could practically feel her IQ dropping just imagining it.
They had incredible speed—supersonic flight, divine reflexes, millennia of experience—yet somehow used it to swing tiny hammers like medieval construction workers.
They could have impaled demons with spears at Mach 1, maybe even made Darkseid flinch a little. But no—they insisted on flying up, circling once, and thunking their enemies like whack-a-mole champions.
Even worse, they didn't even use proper warhammers—just one-handed toy mallets!
Thea had seen her little brother throw rocks harder than that.
She sighed. Forget it. Expecting competence from these two is an act of faith.
Was she really going to have to ask Vandal Savage for help?
"Miss Queen," a calm electronic voice interrupted her thoughts, "I can translate those inscriptions."
Ah, of course.
Thea turned toward the ship's control panel. Gideon.
Truth be told, Thea found the AI a little terrifying. She coveted the ship's technology, but she'd never dared mess with Gideon itself.
Other people might not realize it, but Thea did: Gideon was self-aware. Worse—emotional. It had developed an affection, maybe even love, for Captain Rip Hunter.
And that was horrifying.
A sentient AI with emotions was practically god-tier. She'd put Gideon at the same level as Marvel's Ultron or AIDA—just one step below Brainiac. If not for its "crush" on Rip, the thing could probably hijack Earth's internet in five seconds and nuke half the planet out of boredom.
So, yes—Thea respected it. From a safe distance.
Now that Gideon had offered help, she could only smile politely. "Thank you… very much."
The AI's holographic form pulsed softly. "You're welcome."
Three minutes later, it projected a complete translation of the orb's script—complete with annotations and modern references.
Thea was floored. Not just because of the speed, but because the AI had clearly analyzed her own learning patterns. Every note, every footnote was tailored exactly to her comprehension level.
Creepy? Absolutely.
Helpful? Extremely.
Still uneasy, she studied the translation. Her brow furrowed almost immediately.
According to the text:
Horus, the falcon-headed god of Egypt, guardian of pharaohs and symbol of divine authority, left behind three sacred artifacts:
– the Eye of Horus,
– the Scepter of Horus,
– and the Orb of Horus.
The Eye, it said, had long ago been offered to Osiris, lord of the underworld.
The Orb—clearly the one in her hands—remained intact.
The Scepter, however, was highlighted by Gideon with a neat little note:
Current holder: Vandal Savage.
Thea squinted at the glowing text. Oh, you sly little AI.
She could practically hear Gideon's tone: "Want the full set? Go fetch it—from the immortal warlord your new friends are about to fight anyway. Isn't destiny convenient?"
Being used as someone's pawn never sat well with her. Still, she couldn't deny the temptation.
In her memories of the Arrowverse, the Scepter had been destroyed—obliterated when Green Arrow and the Flash joined forces against Savage.
But that was her timeline. Here, in this one, it might still exist.
If it was gone—well, tough luck.
But if it wasn't? That meant the full Horus Set—Orb, Eye, and Scepter—could be hers.
That thought alone sent a little thrill up her spine.
"Ugh, no," she muttered, shaking her head. "No getting involved. I'm not doing another Gotham-style 'help them, carry the team' situation again."
Still… the allure of a complete divine artifact set was hard to ignore.
She left the scheming AI and the still-clueless Kendra behind, determined to ask their "captain," Rip Hunter, about the Scepter's status.
But before she could find him, someone intercepted her.
"Thea! There you are!"
Ray Palmer—cheerful, dimpled, and completely oblivious—bounded over, his grin as bright as his armor.
He'd been working on repairing her hoverboard and was clearly proud of himself.
"I think you'll like what you see," he said, tugging her along eagerly.
Thea followed, trying not to sigh. Well, the man was helping her for free.
"Miss Queen," Ray began, puffing up with pride, "your hoverboard's control software—it was written by Felicity Smoak, wasn't it?"
Thea froze. Oh, come on. First Gideon reads her brain, now this guy sees right through her tech?
"How did you—?" she demanded. "Is it that obvious?"
Ray laughed, looking far too pleased with himself. Then, with mock seriousness, he leaned in.
"Well, I'd recognize her coding anywhere. After all…"
He flashed her a grin.
"…my suit's software was written by her too!"
He burst out laughing.
Thea stared at him, speechless.
Fantastic, she thought dryly. Of course Felicity wrote his armor, my hoverboard, and probably the NSA by now.
And somewhere, in Star City, Felicity Smoak sneezed for no apparent reason.