“Because I’m only nineteen farther and I don’t want to have to learn about .. .. colony management or city planning. Is it better to build a blasted brick factory or have building materials delivered? Well I don’t know and honestly farther, I don’t care to know” said Creamy defiantly being careful to keep the whining teenager tone out of his voice.

The Brigadier picked up his service baton and held it behind his legs gripped it in both hands to save him from throttling his son.

“You are going to inherit everything boy, and currently, I believe I may as well flush it all down the lavatory along with the families good name rather than hand you the reins of our holdings. It’s time for you to stop being a lout and become a lord”

The Countess looked from her husband to her son. They were both hansom men and as stubborn and strong-willed as an old horse. Her husband was a dyed in the wool military man and wouldn’t take their son's obstinance much longer even if the argument was part of the plan. If she didn’t step in soon, she would lose her son, and that would not look good in the royal court.

“Come now gentleman, this is not how we talk to each other in this family” She stood beside her husband between the men and rested a reassuring hand on The Count’s shoulder. “Your farther is right Charles, you should by now have decided on a career to pursue if you are not ready to take your fathers' title and responsibilities, but you do nothing”

Countess Goodness gave her son a moment to reflect on the truth of her statement.

“What about the young Lady Benton-Risley? She is applying for flight school is she not? You seem rather inseparable, so I imagine you are considering following suit.”

Her son was close with a lot of girls unfortunately, and a lot of women too. He was like a child that always wanted a new toy. Charles would notice someone new soon enough and Lady Benton-Risley would be left behind if she wasn’t wise and dropped “Creamy” first. His ravenous appetite was starting to be noticed and would soon cause problems if he continued his rampant conquests.

Creamys’ face softened when his mother mentioned Lady Benton-Risley, but he knew he was still under assault from his farther, and his mother was manipulating the situation to get what she wanted. His father was a battlefield master and his mother’s political machinations had kept her and the family an important and influential voice in the royal court. He had to remember he was in a fight for his freedom no matter how well-mannered his opponents seemed to be.

Creamy smiled at his mother and parodied his farther by linking his hand behind his back.

“Yes she is and I was considering accompanying her on the journey, but I have no interest in becoming a pilot. We employ enough of them to take me anywhere I may need to go”

He turned his gaze to his farther and continued.

“I don’t think you’ve held a flight stick since I was a nipper ay farther? Like you, I prefer to concentrate on other matters while the pilot takes care of the flying”  

The hardwood of the baton strained under the force of the Brigadier’s grip.

“I bloody well know what you like to get up to in the yacht you filthy little blighter. Idle hands are the devil's plaything and it would be a service to decency to keep your hands on the controls rather than… what you do”

“Well what would you have me do farther? You won’t let me serve in the army and I quite liked being Leftenant Goodness. I got on with the chaps and looked absolutely top class in the uniform. It was the only thing we had in common and you, personally I may add, booted me out.”

Count Goodness swayed for a moment remembering his son on training maneuvers. While it was true that his boy could handle personal combat in an exemplary manner, and didn’t pose any danger to his own side with a rifle, his awareness of anything not directly under his nose was completely non-existent. He knew his son wasn’t the straightest spine on parade, he didn’t realise just how dim-witted Charles was until he had seen him in a military setting.

“The.. armed forces are not for you my boy. I deeply wish they were, but it’s not a place you will fare well Charles”

Creamy was taken aback by the softness in his dad’s voice. The “Brig” was a head-on battering ram sort of man that rarely had an emotion as far as he knew, but there was fatherly concern in his voice that de-railed Creamys’ concentration.

“I’ve told you, I’m taking Grandfather's name, I’m not going to be Charles the Eighth. That sounds like a measurement one would use for making a pot of tea”

Creamy put on a silly voice and mimed along with his complaint.

“Take a full scoop of Ceylon Leaf and add an eighth of Charles Goodness for a cheeky morning brew. Chin chin!”

Creamy straightened up again realising he had just undermined his position with a moment of silliness.

“Creamy Goodness the Third suits me down to the ground, and it’s my right to take a name from our family linage if I so choose” he finished trying to sound level headed.

The Brigadier sagged a little. His own farther and his brother were.. .. singular people. It was a different time of expansion, and odd names were cropping up all-over the growing bubble. The Countess came to her husband’s rescue.

“That is your right son, as long as you intend to follow in their footsteps. Both of them were fighter pilots, and your grandfather turned his pilot’s handle into a name by pure dint of skill and military achievements. That foolish name wouldn’t have lasted if he hadn’t have become Fleet Marshal. Do you intend to go to flight school after all, or are you going to retract your claim that outdated moniker?”

Creamy stumbled into his mother’s trap as she knew he would. The countess loved her son, but she couldn’t ignore the fact he was a simpleton. She also couldn’t help exploiting that even if she did feel like mean spirited for doing so.

“No, not that bit of Grandfathers' career mother” implored Creamy “The adventures after the naval service. When he and uncle went exploring and got into scrapes with pirates, or searched for lost colonies and…”

“Expeditions that their personally accrued fortune from wise investments and hard work funded, while the estate and holdings they were responsible for were managed by experts. Our holdings flourished under handpicked supervisors following a plan your grandfarther had laid out for the proxy lords left to rule in their stead and later, your own farther. Tell me son, what personal lines of finance have you arranged for yourself?” asked the Countess.

“Ar well.. . My allowance is mor..” stammered the would be Creamy

“Your allowance is part of the portfolio your farther and I created for you Charles. I am asking what you have turned that into?” continued the countess crushing the momentum out of her son’s argument by already knowing the answer.

“He’s turned it onto exhaust vapors, spilled wine and lavish gifts for his..” The Brigadier picked his words carefully in front of his wife “.. flavour of the month” he finished looking at the Countess to check he hadn’t stated their son's proclivities to boldly.

The doorways were closing. There was only one light left and if he didn’t take it Charles would be going back to the academy to be moulded into his farther while his mother found a suitable match to become the next Lady Goodness weather Charles wanted her or not.

“Right. Fine. I’ll do it if I must” The would-be Creamy drew himself to his full height and looked from the Count to the Countess. “I’ll go to the Pilots Federation, gain a licence and then I’ll earn my own money. Have you any objections sir?” Creamy looking into his dad’s eyes saluted with the wrong hand.

The Brigadier kept the annoyance at his son’s frailer to remember something as simple as a salute off his face and his hands wrapped around his baton again. This was the result the Countess wanted. If everything went to plan, Charles would be back in the academy within two years.

“Very well Charles” said his mother with a sly smile playing on her lips. “We’ll gift you a full years allowance to take with you and Branford will transport you to the flight school of your choice. We give you this with just one proviso young man”

The Countess produced her slate and pretended to write an agreement when in fact she and the Count had prepared it before deciding to manoeuvre Charles into having this very argument with them.

“Should you need to call on the family or any official Imperial resources to rectify a situation that has grown beyond your ability to overcome, you will agree to return home. Naturally, you will not be penalised if the situation was not of your own making. The agreement places no more burden upon you then it would any independent peer of the realm. We simply wish you to compose yourself in a manner fitting your status and learn to configure your own financial portfolio”

She pushed the slate under Charles’ hand before his defiance turned into cold realisation that he was cutting ties to the backing of the family and the plentiful support it offered.

“Just press your thumb to the pad and you’re free to become whatever you like my son. We won’t stand in your path”

Creamy paused for only a moment glancing at his progenitors wondering if he really had just won the argument. The impassive faces in front of him were the last push he needed. Creamy pressed his thumb to the slate.

“No sense in waiting I suppose, I shall go pack. If you would be kind enough to have Branford prepare the yacht, I would be most grateful”

The Count and Countess watched him leave.

“Darling” ventured the Count tucking his baton back into its holster in his trousers “Are you sure you were not unfaithful to me?”

He looked down on his wife with a playful smile on his lined face.

“I will forgive you if you can truthfully tell me I am not genetically responsible for that nincompoop”

The countess slapped her husband’s barrel chest and they shared a little light laughter.

“I am sorry darling, I have ever been the dutiful wife, and far more then you deserve you old rouge. Charles is indeed our fault”

They turned and took each other’s hand walking to the garden.

“I give the dirty little blighter less than a year before we have to go fetch him” complained the Brigadier casually.

“Oh don’t discount his charms and agility darling. He can talk his way out just well as he charms his way in.  Have you watched him train recently?  He runs like a hunting dog and I could almost believe he can fly, he probably can in low gravity”

The Countess took solace in the knowledge there were a few areas where she could take pride in her little boy.

“No darling, I think we’ll have plenty of time to find and groom advisers to manage things on Charles’ behalf. As long as he plays the part we’ll be free to move you onto a more prestigious position. I think he’ll last two, or even three years before he has to return to Imperial space”