Copyright © 2015 by Timberwoof Lupindo
Not for redistribution.

3. Matriculation

Prince Daschiel lounged on his father’s throne and surveyed the great hall. He watched three woofs enter the hall and look about. Two of them were about his own age: dark grey woofs wearing traveling clothes in the quaint northern style. Another, grey tinged with white, was wearing spacers’ overalls. Tourists, he thought: two journeywoofs and their granduncle. He watched as they realized what was hanging on the wall behind him.
The two journeywoofs had a conversation with their elder, who stroked one of them between the ears. The three turned their backs on Daschiel and walked out of the hall. Daschiel was certain he saw the journeywoofs wag their tails defiantly at him. He knew they were not just tourists—they were Wester Woofs. They had an adolescent fear of losing their tails which they justified as provincial pride in not showing fealty to their lord. Daschiel smirked and lifted his chin. He hooked a leg over the arm of the throne and looked up at the balcony at one side of the hall. His elder sister, the royal princess, stood there, glaring at him.

“Father, what are you going to do about that younger brother of mine?”
Regila brushed her light grey and tan fur as she watched the tourists and ger brother below.
“Why, daughter? What’s he done now?” Lord Tarkel looked up from the documents he was signing for Count Duncaster, the Minister of Education. They both looked at Regila.
“Three Wester Woofs just turned their backs on him and showed off their tails as though they owned the place, and Daschiel made a point of ignoring them.”
“And this is a problem why? We’re not at war with the Wester Wood. They’re tourists, probably spending their money here.”
“Well, he’s an embarrassment. I think you should send him off to the Academy or something.”
“The naval academy?”
“The space academy, Father! Get him off this planet.”

“The space academy?”
“Haven’t you heard, Father? They’ve sent out a call for students, not just from Tarkel, but from all over the world. I bet that’s why those Wester Woofs were here. The old woof they were with was wearing a spacer’s uniform.”
“Space academy?”
“Yes. Train him to be a proper officer. Teach him to show respect for authority and get him out of my fur!” The Princess bared her teeth and pointed her ears forward in frustration.
The Tarkel Lord seemed to think on this for a moment.
“Hmmmm. Well, we are the biggest naval power in the world; why should we care about what’s going on up there?”
“If I may interrupt, your majesty,” said Duncaster, “Up there is so large that Woofheim is a mere speck of dust on a dinner plate—on the floor of the whole dining hall.”
“You insult Woofheim?”
“No, your majesty. Just illustrating the scale of things. And the princess has a point. We should send Daschiel to the Academy. At the very least, he’d bring us honor. The possibilities for new trade are … astounding.”
“And it will get him out of my fur!”
“Yes, dear. Count Duncaster, see to it at once.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Regila, somewhat satisfied, resumed watching people come and go in the Great Hall. Lord Tarkel sighed and went back to signing documents.
The Minister of Education, tutor to the Tarkel princes, bowed and left the apartment. The Academy was not a very long walk from the royal palace, so he decided to take on the task personally. He walked into the building, rather stark by his taste, and proceeded to the enrollment office.
“I wish to enroll someone in the Space Academy.”
“Name?”
“Grawlfur Duncaster, Minister of Education.”
“Begging your pardon, Minister, I know who you are. And you are … ah … beyond our age requirements for new cadets.”
“Harrumph! I am enrolling Daschiel Tarkel.”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say so, Minister? Do you have a transcript? Edorsements? Recommendations?”
“I taught him personally; he achieved excellent marks in all subjects; and I recommend that you admit him forthwith!”
The admissions officer filled out a form and passed it to the minister.
“Yes, Minister. Just doing my job, from which you would dismiss me should I fail to carry it out properly. Please sign here.”
He passed the paper over to him and indicated the correct place.
Duncaster reviewed the document and signed it.
“When do classes begin?”
The officer looked at the clock.
“In about four hours. You’d better get him here soon, Minister.”
Duncaster twitched the stump of his tail and harrumphed, then turned and left the office.

“Daschiel, pack your things,” said Duncaster. “Now.”
He stood at the door to Daschiel’s rooms. Daschiel lounged on a divan.
“What?”
“You’re going to the Space Academy.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Pack a day-bag; barest essentials. You’ve been enrolled and classes begin in three hours.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Duncaster! You might have warned me!”
“Your Father just decided. Maybe we’ll get some use out of you after all.”
“I bet it was my sister’s doing.”
Duncaster harrumphed.
Daschiel sighed.
“Count Duncaster, it’s no use hiding it. She’s behind this.”
Duncaster looked like a young woof caught with his paw in the cookie jar. Daschiel thought for a moment.
“Well. Adventure awaits, and it beats having to poke about this old pile of bricks. Let her have it, I say! Footman, pack a day-bag and be quick about it. You heard the woof; barest essentials.”
“Yes, your highness,” said the footman, who opened some drawers and selected some clothes for the Prince.
“I know what to do,” said the Prince. “I’ll go and surprise Fidibus, the Duke’s son. Count Duncaster, can you enroll him as well?”
“Yes, well—“
“Good! See to it at once!”
Daschiel turned from Duncaster and ran out the door and into the hall, where he crashed into a servant who was carrying a silver tray. Dishes of food and glasses of wine went everywhere, splattering Daschiel’s clothes and fur.
“You imbecile! Why don’t you watch where you’re going!” said Daschiel.
“Dascheil, don’t be a cad,” said Duncaster. “The servant was doing his job and you crashed into him. A proper lord doesn’t blame his servants for his own clumsiness.”
Dasciel glared at Duncaster. A small frown momentarily escaped his control. He stood up, said, “Never mind; I’ve got to get to Fidibus,” and ran down the hall. Other servants leaped out of the prince’s way.
A few apartments down the hall from his were those of his friend and co-conspirator in royal shenanigans, the son of a Duke. He knocked on the door and wished he didn’t have to.
“Fidibus!”
The door opened, revealing a tan woof his own age, bearing, breeding, and taste in fine clothes.
“Ah, Daschiel. So good of you to see me. What happened to you?”

“Never mind that. Fidibus, get your shit together; you’re going with me to the Academy.”
“Oh, you’re just in time! I’m all packed and ready to go. How kind of you to see me off.”
“What?”
“Today is the first day of classes at the Academy. I’m heading—“
“Yes, yes, yes, you’re coming with me and we’re going to enroll.”
Fidibus looked at his friend.
“Daschiel, I’m already enrolled. Have been for months. You’re acting like you just found out about it.”
“Well, I, uh—you’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”
Fidibus looked at the prince sidelong. “Uh huh. Well. I’m ready to go. Where’s your stuff?” He grabbed a pack that had lain on the bed and stepped into the hall with the Prince.
“Let’s go!”
Daschiel gestured with his free arm and led the way back to is apartment. A footman waited for them, holding a pack. Daschiel changed his clothes, grabbed the pack, and stormed out the palace to the Academy. Fidibus rolled his eyes and dutifully followed.

When Daschiel and Fidibus arrived at the Academy, a few other woofs were already there, including … Daschiel’s eyes went wide as he recognized the dark greys from Wester Wood, their tails proudly displayed.
“Harrumpf. Make way for the Prince, you … wester woofs.” He tried to make it sound like an insult.
The two dark grey woofs turned to look … and obviously recognized him. They looked him up and down; one of them pointed, incredulous.
“You?” He rolled his eyes.
“Outta my way, wester woofs. I’m royalty.”
“Get in line with the rest of us. We were here first,” said the other one.

“Yeah, get back in line,” said another young woof.
Daschiel looked at the number of woofs waiting. He was about to say something but Fidibus cut him off.
“Daschiel, just get in line,” said Fidibus. “Don’t make a scene on your first day at Academy.”
“Duke Fidibus, you forget your place. Coming from anyone else, that would have meant trouble.”
“Daschiel, it’s just Fidibus any more. Get in line.”
“All right, all right, settle down over there,” said the academy official at the head of the line. “Get in line like everybody else.”
The speaker was an officer of the academy. He wore a military uniform: black boots, grey and blue trousers and jacket with rank insignias on the sleeves, tailored tail-sleeve, and a military-looking hat.
“And who might you be?” he asked the dark grey wolf at the head of the line.
“Cadets, Sir,” he said.
“Travel papers, please.”
The journeywoof presented his identity card and travel documents. The Academy officer compared the 3D image on the card with the figure in front of him. Medium, defined build, dark grey fur, yellow eyes … all matched up. He punched a key on his station, returned the card to the woof, and processed the next cadet.
The next woof likewise presented his identity card. the Academy officer compared the 3D image on the card with the figure in front of him. Medium, defined build, dark grey fur, yellow eyes … all matched up.
“Wait a moment! What’s your name, pup?”
“Timberwoof Lupindo.”
“You! Come back here!”
He indicated the other woof, who returned to the officer’s station.
“I’ve met Timberwoof Lupindo, and neither of you can possibly be him. What’s your story?”
“We’re his—”

“—grandsons.”
“Uh huh. I’ll have to call this in.”
He poked a button on a panel at his desk.
“Commander, I’ve got a pair of jokers here calling themselves Timberwoof Lupindo. Yes, both of them. … Yes, Sir. Will do.”
The officer looked at them with a shade more respect. Both IDs in hand, he compared the images to the two cadets standing before him. He seemed to have the distinct discomfort of not knowing whether to salute them or scrutinize them further. “Who had the bright idea of giving you two the same name?”
“Our mothers.”
“Brothers?”
“Cousins.”
“Well, Timberwoof Lupindo and Timberwoof Lupindo, I’m pleased to meet you. Welcome to the Star Fleet Academy.”
He handed the IDs back, one at a time.
“Thank you, Officer,” said one, his brown eyes glinting.

“Wait on that bench. The instructors will be here soon enough. Next!”
Daschiel fidgeted as the officer checked the papers of half a dozen more woofs his age. Finally it was his turn.
“Prince Daschiel Tarkel, son of—”
“Travel papers?”
“My father is Lord Tarkel.”
“I don’t care who your father is, your highness. You’re just another cadet candidate.” He emphasized the word candidate. “Travel papers.”
Daschiel about had enough of being pushed around, first by the Wester Woofs and now by this … lieutenant.
“Come on, Daschiel,” said Fidibus, poking him in the ribs. “Just show him your signet ring. You’re not in the royal palace any more.”
“Listen to your friend. Okay, you are who you say you are. Here is a form for you to fill out. Go sit on that bench, fill it out, and bring it back to me when you’re done. Next!”
Fidibus had his identity papers ready. “Here you go, Sir.”
“Thank you. Everything checks out. Wait on that bench. Next!”
“Hey,” said Daschiel. “Why do I have to fill out this form? No one else here has to.”
The intake officer replied patiently, “Everyone else here is here because they were invited by the Academy. You are here because your father Lord Tarkel requested it. When the Space Academy was founded, it was with the specific intent of preventing members of royalty or nobility automatically becoming officers while peasants and farmers became soldiers and sailors. So if you want to become an officer in the Space Navy, you have to give up your noble title and prove yourself.”
Daschiel stared at the officer in disbelief, then looked around at all the other cadets. They stared back at him.
“What gives you the right to tell everybody? —To tell these … peasants?”
“No, Your Highness. These are not peasants. These are your peers. And they get to witness your declaration.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Signing up for the Academy is voluntary. The exit is over there. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Fidibus whispered something in Daschiel’s ear. Daschiel tilted his head and furrowed his brow as Fidibus went on. Daschiel looked at his friend, who looked back pointedly. Daschiel stood up and cleared his throat. Holding the declaration up so he could read it, he took a deep breath, paused for effect, and spoke.
“Gentlewoofs. I hereby renounce all claims to royalty or nobility and deny any special consideration that may accede to such. I request that my performance at the Woofheim Space Academy be evaluated on my own merits and not those of my station or lineage. I declare that I am not coerced or unduly influenced and that my alternatives have been explained to me. Signed this day yadda yadda yadda by Daschiel Tarkel.”
Daschiel looked around at his fellows expectantly. The other cadet candidates considered his words and nodded. A few politely applauded. Daschiel seemed to expect more … but when nothing more was going to happen, he returned to the window to hand in his declaration.
“Thank you, Cadet,” said the admissions officer. “Welcome to the Academy. Next!”