“I don’t know why I was chosen out of all of Earth’s population,” my dad explains. “I was an astronomer. My particular area of interest was in deep space, specifically with trying to make contact with alien life forms. I believed that there were signs here on Earth of visitation from aliens, which didn’t exactly make me popular with some of my less imaginative colleagues.”

“You were right, though,” says Eight. “The Loralite is here. Those cave paintings we found in India.”

“Exactly,” continues my dad. “Most of my peers in the scientific community dismissed me as a madman. I suppose I must have seemed like one, ranting on about extraterrestrial visitors.” He glances around. “And yet, here you are.”

“Thanks for the résumé,” interrupts Nine, “but can we get to the Pittacus part?”

My dad smiles. “I’d begun sending communication bursts into space from my laboratory using radio waves. I believed I was on to something. This was on my own time. I’d been—ah, dismissed, I suppose, from my position at the university.”

“I kinda remember that,” I say. “Mom was pissed.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting from my experiments. A response, certainly. Perhaps a burst of alien music or images of a strange galaxy.” My dad snorts, shaking his head at how unprepared he was. “I got more than I bargained for. One night, a man showed up at my door. He was wounded and rambling—at first I mistook him for a crackpot or a vagrant. And then, before my very eyes, he grew.”

“Taller?” Six asks, an eyebrow raised.

My dad chuckles. “Indeed. It doesn’t seem like much now, considering all I’ve seen, but it was the first time I’d seen a Legacy at work. I wish I could say that I reacted with proper scientific curiosity, but instead I think I did a fair bit of screaming.”

I nod. Sounds like the Goode way.

“A Garde on Earth,” breathes Marina. “Who was he?”

“He called himself Pittacus Lore.”

Nine scoffs and shoots John a look. “Everyone thinks they’re Pittacus!”

“You’re saying you met an Elder?” John says, ignoring Nine. “Or someone claiming to be an Elder?”

“What did he look like? What did he say?” Ella asks.

“First, he told me he that his injuries were caused by a hostile alien race that would soon be coming to Earth. He told me he would not survive the night and . . . he wasn’t wrong.” My dad closes his eyes, willing his brain to work. “Pittacus told me much in the short time he had left, but I’m afraid the details are fuzzy. He asked me to prepare a group of humans to receive you, to help your Cêpans get on the run, to provide guidance. I was the first of the Greeters.”

“What else did he tell you?” John asks, sitting forward eagerly.