Omega's Child

(Khentu Emrys)

Location: Sands of Time Brothel, Doru District, Omega


"Khentu. Get. Up." A boot nudged my shoulder to emphasize each word and repetition of the phrase.

"Leave me alone," I groaned. Or at least, I thought I did. The sound that reached my ears was not so articulate as I would have liked, but served to convey the message well enough.

The boot now kicked, hard, and I rolled on my side with a groan of pain, my left hand going to the small of my back.

That drew a scoffing sound from the man kicking me, the sound so familiar that I managed to recognize my brother. "Your pistol is on the other side of the room, dumbass."

"Fuck off, Tol." I managed to sound more alive that time, even as I tried to bat at his ankles.

"Believe me, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to, but Father gave orders." There was a flicker, then the lights, dim as they were, blazed into the recesses of my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut and brought my palms over them to try and calm the massive drums pounding in my head.

Something stuck me in the neck, and the pounding in my head eased somewhat. It still took a minute or two, but I managed to lower my hands, seeing Ptolemy standing over me, stim-gun in hand from where he had stuck me.

"Come on," he said, replacing it on his belt. "Get dressed. We've got to be at the docks in an hour. I brought your armor."

Still reeling from the effects of the past night's alcohol mingling with the stims coursing through my system, I glanced over to see my armor case was indeed lying in the middle of the room.

"How did you…?"

The slightest of grins crossed my half-brother's face. "I've been breaking into your locker since I was eleven, little brother. Now move your ass: I'm not your bloody nursemaid, or your dealer either, for that matter."

"Just my babysitter, apparently," I snarked back, even as I attempted to roll to my feet, somewhat unsuccessfully, leaving me sitting on my bed and trying not to groan even more.

Ptolemy only snorted in reply before turning and leaving the room. As he opened the door to the small chamber, two figures, a Batarian male and a pale Human female, came in and began unpacking my armor, both of them heavily collared. Ordinarily, I would have resented being dressed by my brother's slaves, but I honestly felt like shit, and didn't have the motivation to object.

"The stims will wear off quickly, young master, so you'd best drink this," the young woman said, handing me a bottle. "Only cure for the hangover you're going to have, I'm afraid: hydration."

"What have I told you about calling me that, Tess?" I replied, in-between swigs of the water. "My name is Ken, or Khentu if you're feeling formal."

"Um… yes, master…. Khentu," Tess answered, coloring hotly. "Sorry."

I waved a hand to cut off any more apologies, while the Batarian male began tugging a shirt over my head.

"I've got it, Jaye," I insisted.

The Batarian's head made a bow, and he stepped back wordlessly to help Tess unpack my armor. But that was no surprise: someone in his past apparently attempted to slit his throat, which left the Batarian as damaged goods in the eyes of most slave dealers. I was positive that Ptolemy thought purchasing him had been a grand Humanegesture on his part.

After a few moments, I was decent and the two slaves began strapping me into my armor. It wasn't fancy by any means: I had collected it piece by piece over the years, once I had finally stopped growing. The practiced hands that moved the ceramic plates into place showed that the pair were probably used to dressing my brother, but I couldn't complain right now. Or at least, I was too tired to do so.

With an effort, the two slaves pulled me to my feet, and my helmet was placed under my arm. I nodded my thanks, and moved towards the door. The fact that the room had stopped swaying meant the stims were really kicking in now, I supposed, and I hoped that the three or so bottles of water Tessa had forced down me would help to stave off the massive hangover I knew I had coming.

Exiting the room, Ptolemy straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall. His armor was lighter than mine, but it more or less matched. What's more, it had been polished to almost a mirror shine, and then painted in reflective gold with blood-red accents. He gave me a once-over, eventually shrugging in acceptance.

"Acceptable, I suppose," he stated disapprovingly. "You are the son of the Haty-a of the Arrows of Knesset. Your armor makes you look like a junkyard mercenary."

"My armor doesn't draw any attention to itself in a firefight," I retorted. I was sonot in the mood for his condescending bullshit. "Your armor says, 'I'm the asshole in charge, shoot me first.'"

Ptolemy said nothing, but spun on his heel, making his way towards the exit. I took a step to follow him… and ran smack into a biotic barrier.

"Fucking hellTol! Fucking petty! Even for you!" I swore as I stumbled into the wall. The pounding in my head was too much for me to tell if the asshole was chuckling or not, but I chose to believe he was. Stumbling outside, there was my brother's squad, dressed in enough spit and polish for a fucking parade ground.

This was Omega, for fuck's sake. Who the hell cared?

The eight of us loaded into a truck, which lifted off in the direction of the docks. Ptolemy turned around to face the rest of us in the back.

"Helmets on," he called. "Watch each others backs."

"No fucking kidding, General Ptolemy," I grumbled into my helmet, and had the satisfaction of seeing several of the squad grin at my brother's expense before disappearing into their own helmets.

The ride up to the docks was uneventful, but that was not the part we were worried about, necessarily. The Arrows were not very popular outside of our neighborhood of Little Egypt, and with the True Son assholes wreaking havoc in Tuhi and the Lowers, Humans in general were not exactly the most popular species on the station. That sentiment was only confirmed as we made our way down from the landing pads to the docking station. The populace, mostly Batarians and Turians, shot hateful looks our way, or made overt signs to ward off evil in their respective religions.

"Easy…" Ptolemy hissed over the private comms, guessing at the Arrows' reactions. "We're here to provide an honor guard, not to demand respect from Outsider trash."

"As long as they don't start throwing shit," one of the Arrows growled, a younger kid who still did most of his thinking with his dick, by the sound of it.

"We're not here to incite a riot," one of the older veterans growled back at him.

"Ummm…. Somebody want to tell them that?" I asked, gesturing to the scene we had just walked in on.

A large crowd disproportionally made up of Humans was gathered in the square in front of us, all of them facing a group of men standing on what appeared to be a makeshift platform. Others were standing and holding placards. More were holding weapons of horrifying condition and design.

"Hmmm… 'Fuck Aliens,'" I read one of the nearby placards. "Creative, this lot. Well-read and with expansive vocabularies, most likely."

"We should turn around, Boss," the older veteran who had spoke earlier stated.

"This is the most direct route to the Docks," Ptolemy replied, but I could hear the reluctance in his voice. "If we go around, we run the risk of missing the Pharaoh's arrival altogether, thanks to someone's late start."

The back of my neck burned at the less-than-subtle reference to yours truly, and the grip on my pistol tightened.

"We go through," Ptolemy continued, resolute determination coming into his voice. "Keep to the outskirts of these fools. We don't want anyone to think we're actually with them, for Ra's sake."

Grunts of agreement went around, and we set forward. For their part, the hangers-on of the assembled mob parted in front of such well-armed passers-by. But our drawing closer also meant we could now hear what the Human standing on the platform was now shouting.

"Asari don't care about any other species!" he was ranting, white flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth. "They are the whores who are running the rest of the galaxy into the karking ground!"

A murmur of general agreement ran through the crowd. There were plenty of Batarians and even Turians who didn't much care for the blue-skinned aliens, I supposed.

Taking advantage of the crowd's reaction, another asshole jumped up next to his friend.

"What need have they of any planet other than Thessia?"

"None!" several of the crowd shouted back.

"What businessdo they have running any other planet than Thessia?"

"None!" came more shouts.

"I say the blue-skins should go back to their whore planet, where they can fuck each other into extinction!"

The shouts now were slightly less than enthusiastic than they might have been. The idiot has crossed a line. Before they were just bitching at the aliens in charge, which anybody could get behind. Now it sounded like they were calling for Aria's removal, and the wiser members of the crowd were now pushing to get away from the idiot.

Undaunted, or perhaps too truly idiotic to notice the shift, the second idiot started pumping his fist up in the air, leading his cronies and the more fanatic of the assembled crowd in a chant:

"Fuck the whores! Fuck the whores!"

Truly creative, this bunch.

"FUCK THE WHORES! FUCK THE WHORES! Fuck the – "

A shot rang out, and the second idiot went down like a rag doll. We spun towards the sound, guns in hand. An Asari lowered what appeared to be a heavily-modified Viper, though only so that she could aim at the crowd in general.

"Any more of you apes have a catchy slogan?" she called out. Several black-armored Asari were walking into the square behind her now, their armor openly bearing the sigil of Aria T'Loak.

"Fucking hell."Ptolemy's oath was less about seeing armed Asari, and more concerned with the fact that at that precise moment, our little group was squarely in the middle between them and the gathered mob.

The first Human speaker looked from his friend's lifeless body to the Asari's rifle, and back and forth a couple of times. And then decided to do something truly stupid.

"Take 'em!" he screeched, pulling a shotgun from the small of his back. "Strike for the True Sons of the Galaxy!"

The die-hards around him surged forward, along with a disturbing percentage of the crowd, most of whom I guessed were more motivated by the prospects of robbing the Asari corpses of their weapons and gear than any incendiary speeches on the Human's part.

And there we were, caught in the middle, in a classic example of "Wrong place, Wrong time."

Ptolemy spun towards the rioters, dropping to a knee and throwing a biotic blast into the mass of bodies surging towards us. Everyone on that side of our party also dropped to their knee, allowing the rest of us to fire over their heads. Behind us, the Asari cut loose with a torrent of gunfire and biotic power that began to turn Human beings into bloody confetti.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief as I squeezed my trigger. I was half-worried for a second that Tol was going to choose thismoment to choose "Honor" or "Race" over practicality. And I so did not want to start a direct conflict with Aria's people that day.

On the upside, the adrenaline coursing through my body was doing wonders for my throbbing headache.

"Pick your targets! Don't let them overheat you!" Ptolemy was shouting now, mostly at the young kid firing his submachine gun at full-auto into the oncoming crowd.

"'WARE LEFT! 'WARE LEFT!" someone shouted. I spun that direction just in time to meet a skinny kid's tackle at my waist. A group of the idiots had charged us from the side alley in support of their comrades in the square. I muttered an oath as I used the kid's momentum against him, rolling backwards to try and throw him off me. Annoyingly, his lack of armor worked to his advantage, and we ended the roll with his knee pressing down on my chest.

"Traitor!" the kid screeched, and a blade slammed against my breastplate. The rusty kitchen knife snapped at the handle, and the kid stared at his broken weapon, shocked somehow that the blade was unable to penetrate armor. I sent a fist into his jaw, and felt bone yield beneath my studded gloves. I brought my pistol up and sent two rounds into his face before he could get up.

"Asshole," I muttered, cursing every second it was taking me to regain my feet.

Suddenly, there was a whistle and an unmistakable crack of a nullifier grenade going off. Even with my helmet on, my ears popped, and I swiveled my head to find the source of the explosion.

Who thefuckcould afford to waste one of those on a fuckingstreet-riot?

I caught sight of a Turian in rags on top the Asari sniper, slashing down at the temporarily-stunned woman. I fired twice, aiming for center mass. The Turian stiffened and went over, while the Asari let out a curse as she scrambled to her feet, a pistol of her own in hand. Looking left, and then right, she locked eye contact with me as I impatiently waited for my gun to cool a bit. Surprise and disbelief took turns on her face, followed by cool detached appraisal of the gang markings on my breastplate and shoulders. She nodded once in my direction, terse and concise in her motions.

You're welcome, I guess.

Before I could return the nod, the bang-hissof a needler pistol sounded. Ptolemy's sidearm was meant to corral rioting slaves, but it still suited this scenario just fine. Tiny shards of metal blew through unarmored bodies like tissue paper. Those closest to my pissed-off biotic brother died instantly, reduced to more or less ribbons of meat. Those farther away were not so lucky, screeching in agony as they fell clutching at the razor-blades embedded in torsos and arms. Ptolemy cycled through all three barrels of his weapon, which left the open square a writhing mass of dead, dying, and those who wished that they were.

As quickly as the fight had begun, it was over. Ptolemy's armor was slick with blood, none of it his: the macabre side-effect of using that particular weapon. He moved quickly to one of our people who was clutching a hand to his thigh. Another Arrow was already kneeling over him, applying a Med-Patch.

"You have my thanks, Arrow." I turned to see the Asari sniper folding her weapon over her shoulder, still giving me a strange look. I reached up to undo my chin strap and pull the helmet off.

"Quite welcome," I answered. "After all, 'The Tide pulls everybody,' right?"

She stood there for a moment, and then blinked, surprised that a Human knew the Asari phrase, I thought. Then she snorted, and I realized that my broken Thessian had probably butchered the phrase on her translator.

"Khentu!" Ptolemy was helping our wounded man stand. "We must be about our business."

I nodded and sighed before replacing my helmet and turning back to the blue alien.

"Fucking Omega, am I right?"

She grinned again. "Fucking Omega. If you ever find yourself at Afterlife, I owe you a drink. Ask for Teyla."

I gave her a nod and moved to join the rest of my team. Our only wounded man had sustained a relatively-minor graze to the thigh. With the med-patch and a handful of painkillers, we were ready to move.

Looking around, I could see figures already darting forward to loot the dead of whatever few possessions they had on them. On the ground just in front of me was the idiot who had started all of this mess, missing a portion of his head and left ear. I bent over and picked up the sawed-off shotgun he had wielded, testing the weight in my hands. It a bit unwieldy, the barrel and stock having been chopped down to get rid of weight, and there was a hint of rust on the weapon.

"Not bad," I mused aloud, folding my pistol to fit in the hip holster, and attaching my latest weapon to the magnetic plate on the small of my back.

If people had been slow to get out of our way before, the sight of eight blood-spattered armored figures coming down the street was enough to make even the bravest souls pause to allow us by.

The docks on the Doru District were crowded with the usual riffraff: workers loading and unloading cargo of every variety, whores of every sex and species prostituting themselves to the highest bidder, and beggars and pickpockets plying their own special trade as well. We moved down the docks, hoping the delay hadn't cost us too much time.

We knew we were in the right place when we saw the group of red-armored figures, all with a golden arrow on their breastplates, the mirror opposite of Ptolemy's. And at the head of the party was...

"Tolley! Khenny!"

Tol drew himself up proudly, and reached up to remove his helmet, nodding formally as he did. "Abdul."

Abdul Abbas was almost comically skinny at a little over hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. That, coupled with the heavy purple eyeshadow, black eyeliner, and bright red lipstick, had caused many to underestimate the man, or try to take advantage of him. Those individuals were mostly dead, now, with knives shoved under their sternums. The man was ruthlessly focused, and a sound administrator to boot. Those traits were probably why he was put over Father or any of the other Arrows in our Pharaoh's absence.

The little man began to come towards us with arms outstretched, but them seemed to just notice the state of our armor and recoiled, nose crinkling in distaste.

"You lot look like you've just waded through a meat grinder," he exclaimed, producing an oversized fan to cover the lower half of his face. "None of that awful blood is yours, I hope?"

"Trouble at the Markets," I shrugged. "Some True Son recruiters thought it was a good day to incite a riot."

"Ugh, those people," Abdul rolled his eyes dramatically. "Well, thanks the gods you two boys came through unharmed. I don't know what I would have done with myself if either of you had been injured."

"It was no great test of arms," Ptolemy shrugged dismissively.

"Not for a great, big, strapping brute like yourself, I bet it wasn't," Abdul batted his eyelashes flirtatiously, and then turned to gesture towards the still-empty docking bay. "Ahh, boys, it's a great occasion, no?"

"We do rejoice at our Pharaoh's return, yes," Ptolemy delivered in a tone that was distinctly removed from 'rejoicing'. Abdul closed the fan with a slap and delivered a playful whack to Ptolemy's forehead.

"Oh, Tol, I've told you before," he admonished, grinning broadly, "You've got to stop being so damn serious and solemn all the time, or your face is liable to stay that way."

He flitted over to place himself between Tol and me. "Why can't you be more like your brother?" he continued, stroking the back of my head with the folded fan. "I know he's one who knows how to have a good time."

I grinned at Ptolemy's irritation. After many years as our uncle's partner/lover, we took the man's quirks and eccentricities in stride, me probably more so than him. Abdul leaned over to deliver a theatrical whisper into my brother's ear:

"And besides: all this pent-up sexual frustration you've got going on is very bad for the little man downstairs..."

He gestured suggestively to further emphasize exactly what "little man" he was referring to. Ptolemy's face went from annoyed to slightly mortified, and he attempted to stutter back some kind of reply. Twice. I meanwhile was biting the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into laughter, which I was sure every ganger around us was doing as well. Fortunately for him, it was at that moment that the shuttle came down to land at the platform in front of us.

As stupidly expensive as it was to dock a ship directly, most captains chose to wait in a steady orbit around Omega and ferry their goods or passengers to the station. The shuttle that was locking into place was an older Batarian model, but well cared-for and retrofitted, by the looks of things.

We were expecting the usual flood of immigrants to come streaming out of the shuttle: the lawless, the refugees, the downtrodden and unwashed masses. But when the doors opened, several well-armoredfigures exited the shuttle. Even the best-equipped Blood Arrows on the dock were suddenly put to shame at the comparison. Everyone in our party took a small step backwards, aside from Abdul, weapons gripped nervously. But then the armored figures parted, and a familiar face appeared.

I say 'face,' because that was the only thing that was familiar. When Uncle Nasser had departed for this Pilgrimage, he had been dressed in a typical Omega fashion: heavy coat, with a nondescript pair of dungarees beneath. The man walking towards us had Uncle Nasser's face, sure enough, but he was dressed in an exquisite tuxedo that looked like it wouldn't have been out of place on the Citadel.

Abdul let out a small gasp and stepped forward slowly to meet him. The pair embraced warmly, and pressed their foreheads together for a moment. The rest of us looked pointedly away: this was their reunion, and was not meant for anyone else to witness. After a few whispered sentences to one another, Abdul stepped aside, eyes glistening, and fell into step behind our Pharaoh.

"Gideon! How are you, you bastard?" The various comrades and old friends of our uncle stepped forward, some to a warm embrace, others to firm handshakes. Then his eye turned to our group, and he walked our direction, arms outstretched.

"Ptolemy!" he boomed out, "Khentu! Well met, my nephews!"

The two of us made the Arrow salute, bringing the back of the hand to our foreheads. Nasser paused, seeing the blood and brain spatters covering our armor.

"Trouble?" he asked, a hint of seriousness coming into his tone.

"These two young lions just fought their way through a mob to see your arrival, Pharaoh," Abdul cut in, before either of us could answer. "You would have been proud of them."

Nasser nodded, and turned back to us.

"I have always been proud of the pair of you," he grinned, and waved the two of us closer. "Your father is not here?"

"He sends his regrets, sir," Ptolemy answered, a little too quickly, "Unavoidable business called him aw…"

"Yes, yes, more of the same," Nasser waved his hand dismissively. "To be honest, I'd have been more surprised if he had been here."

"Judging by the suit and the bodyguards, I'd say the trip went well?" I asked, nodding at the strangers still standing at attention on the loading dock.

"Better than well, boy," Uncle Nasser answered, and a fierce light came into his eyes. "Much better. There is so much to discuss!"

He turned his head to look around at our present surroundings.

"I would love to stand here all day with you, but I think everyone would prefer me to tell the tale once, and be done with it," he stated finally. "Go back to my brother, and tell him that I need him and all the Knesset commanders to meet me tonightat Thoth. And yourselves, of course, if he hasn't been intelligent enough to make you commanders in my absence."

"We will attend you there, Pharaoh," Ptolemy answered, shooting me a look. Neither of us could remember the last time Uncle Nasser had summoned Father to a meeting. Normally the pair of the existed in blissful separation, ignoring the others existence.

"Tell your father this," Uncle Nasser was continuing, "It's a new day for the Arrows, my boys. A new day. Starting today, the old order will fall. And Egypt will rise."


Author's Note:

So Pharaoh Nasser returns, with strange new companions, and a strange new suit, and new plans to match. How will this affect the Blood Arrows, and the recently-disrupted balance of power on Omega? Keep reading to find out!

All reviews/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms are welcome!


Reviewer Responses:

BJ Hanssen - Thanks! I appreciate that! While I obviously enjoy Beacon's Effect, I always enjoy playing in the Mass Effect sandbox that Katkiller-V has created.

seabo76 - We'll be exploring the full ramifications of building a society on the example of Ancient Egypt: both the good and the bad.

Thanks for reading and reviewing my friends! ROCK ON!

Tusken1602