Coming Home (story)

Deimos stood up quickly as the ship’s computer sent out a warning signal, indicating the proximity of a nearby planet. The nails on his paws clicked loudly on the metallic floor as he made for the nearest window. Deimos’ mulberry eyes widened as he pressed his self to the glass, looking out upon a small blue and green planet orbiting slowly in the cold, black expanse of space. Long had he wished to look upon this planet, his place of origin.
He was not like the ones he remained loyal too. The Irkens. Most of them were small and green with large luminous eyes, reminiscent of his own. Instead of fur they had skin, and where he had pointed ears they had only long antennae. Yet he was a part of them. They were his family, if the word “family” would be an appropriate word to use; but after all, it was they who had made the wolf-like mutant, now staring out upon the place he had come from.
As Deimos looked out he couldn’t help but wonder what it could possibly be like there on that small, spinning world, unaware that one of their former own now looked upon them from afar. Would they accept him? Welcome him home? Often in his life Deimos had asked himself the same question; why him? Why had he been chosen to be like this? Not a wolf, yet not an Irken. For what purpose?
Deimos licked his teeth with his green snake-like tongue. Oh, he knew the purpose. He was made as a weapon, made to kill, to rip and slash with his teeth and claws at the enemy until the hot reek of their blood matted his dark blue fur. Yes. That was what he was made for. But was that all he could ever be?
Deimos’ ears swiveled around as he heard the sound of approaching booted footsteps. He didn’t have to even turn, he recognized the scent of this Irken, this Irken who now stood beside him, silently awaiting his response. Deimos spared a glance at the Irken out of the corner of his eye.
He was small, much smaller than Deimos. If Deimos had wanted to he could kill this Irken with one swipe of his claws, one bite from his teeth. It would be so easy…
But no. Deimos would never harm this one. He would remain ever loyal to him until the end of his days. This Irken; his alpha, his creator.
He was like his father, in a way. While Deimos had never known his biological wolf parents, this Irken was the only father-like creature Deimos had ever known, although to say he had been father-like to Deimos in behavior would be absurd. But it was this Irken’s own genetic material that had been used to bind Deimos’ to the Irken bio-chemistry within him. The same blood flowed within his veins.
Deimos regarded the Irken (who was being uncharacteristically quiet), tilting his head to the side in an inquisitive way while he still remained with his hands pressed up against the glass of the ship’s window. “So this is… Earth?” He asked haltingly, unsure of how the other would reply. “This is… my planet?”
Dark mulberry eyes glanced briefly out the window before back at Deimos. “Yes.” The Irken replied tersely, as if it was painfully obvious. “That is where you came from, originally.”
Deimos blinked at him. “Are there others like me there?” He asked. Again the Irken looked down at the planet. “Not exactly. You’re more Irken then they are.” He replied. Suddenly he laughed, as if moved by some humorous memory. “An alien.” He said, looking up at Deimos with a knowing gleam in his eye. Deimos said nothing but only looked back out upon the planet, his ears pulled back flat against his head.
“Trust me.” The Irken continued. “They won’t accept you. The humans are afraid of anything different from themselves. They’d likely kill you the first chance they got.” He affirmed. Deimos looked down at the Irken, his lips pulling back over his fangs in a smirk. “Kill me?” He mocked. None could kill him. He was too fast, too strong. Many had tried, and all had been unsuccessful.
The Irken grinned nastily back at him, showing all of his zipper-like teeth. “As unlikely as it may be.” He replied. He then looked seriously at Deimos. “They won’t accept you. You are not one of them.” He said. Deimos looked at the floor. “But I’m not an Irken, am I.” He said. The Irken’s scythe-like antennae twitched as if shaking off a fly and he regarding him dryly. “No.” He replied. “You are not an Irken, and you are not an Earth wolf. You are a soldier for the Empire.” The Irken said. He sounded irritated, as if they had gone over this many times before.
The fur along Deimos’ neck and shoulders bristled momentarily as he grit his teeth. He resented that. Resented that he was nothing more than a weapon to be used as the Empire pleased. He would never know exactly who he was; he was neither wolf nor Irken, but some horrible abomination in between.
He stared fixedly at the peaceful-looking blue and green planet. Glaring at it as if trying to make it disintegrate with nothing more than his anger.  No, they would not accept him there. He was not one of them. He knew he could never truly be an Irken either, but they were all he had ever known, and he would remain loyal to them whatever the cost.
Deimos turned away from the window and the planet outside, leaving them to their oblivious existence. He did not need them, nor did he have any desire to be a part of them. He was Deimos. The most deadly being the Universe had ever seen, and he would fight for the Irken Empire alone.