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of the Faith, Etc.,
    The message was, in fact, in the midst of being inscribed back on Earth, likely at Edinburgh, where the Prince of Wales had retreated after the French took London, and King George III along with the city. Weatherby sighed a second time, for this would likely be a message of some importance and great inconvenience.
    A rap upon the cabin door was followed by the rapid entrance of Finch, who rarely waited for acknowledgement before entering. “You might be pleased to know that my original estimate was too high by at least ten or more, Tom. We managed to save more than I first thought. I—” Finch stopped as Weatherby’s face grew drawn and tense as he read the message as it was written, with the power of the Great Work of Alchemy spanning the distance between worlds.
    “Your damnable message papers will be the end of me, Finch,” Weatherby growled as he finished the message and slammed his logbook shut.
    Finch smirked as took the chair opposite Weatherby. “What now, then?” he asked as he accepted a glass of wine from the ever-mindful Gar’uk.. “I…oh…”
    “What?” Weatherby demanded.
    Finch looked away again, as if focusing on something else, then whispered quietly to himself.
    “Finch?”
    Looking even a bit more pale than before, Finch returned his attention to his commander and friend. “So sorry,” he replied, a bit of forced charm coming through. “Thought I forgot something below decks. What about my message papers?”
    “We’re to return to Edinburgh for ‘consultations,’” Weatherby said, his dismay and disgust evident. “And we’re to take three-fourths of our ships with us.”
    “Well…at least you received your orders after the French were defeated,” Finch allowed.
    Weatherby leaned back in his chair and took a prodigious swig of wine. “Let’s bloody well hope they don’t try again until Elizabeth Mercuris is reinforced. Damn these consultations! I cannot help but wonder what scheme Prince George has in mind to rescue England this time.”

CHAPTER 3
    January 3, 2135
    M aria Diaz was all smiles as she propelled herself down the corridor of her latest command, the JSCS Hadfield . They had launched from Ride Station, JSC’s interplanetary launch hub, located at the second Earth-Sun Lagrange point. The DAEDALUS team had set up shop on Ride for the past two weeks, dumping a boatload of scientists back on Earth with very little notice. She knew the scientists had left important work behind, and probably a few experiments were shot to hell because of it, but her team needed time to prepare. There was, after all, a goddamn for-real alien invasion coming. Not exactly War of the Worlds , perhaps, but potentially far more insidious.
    Diaz was in her element. She wore the black jumpsuit that had been a second skin for most of her career, she was floating in zero-g, she was heading off into space to do something foolish and dangerous. Life was good.
    Mostly.
    She entered the Hadfield ’s control and information center, or CIC—a kind of situation room just aft of the cockpit where all the piloting was done. Spacecraft needed far less actual piloting than atmospheric vessels; just point and go. But in this case, she wanted a warm body up there, because their quarry could suddenly get ideas.
    The Hadfield ’s crew—all of whom were DAEDALUS team members—snapped to attention when she entered, giving her a little surge of pride. It never gets old . Even the civilians stopped what they were doing to hear the news.
    “Jimmy, secure the ship,” Diaz ordered.
    Capt. James Coogan of the U.K. Royal Air Force nodded and flipped on enough electronic countermeasures to ensure they could not be overheard—an extremely minute but non-zero chance. The fact that these would disrupt comms to and from the ship was sadly necessary. “Ship secured, ma’am.”
    Diaz shot the young officer a small smile. Jimmy’s red hair and round face made him look like an uppity, priggish