50am, Peter Mitchell walked into the reception area at the Female Correction Institute. He walked the short distance to the desk and looked down at the woman sat behind the desk. She was busy, so Peter waited patiently for her to finish, looking around the cold, dull reception. Eventually, the receptionist finished what she was doing and noticed that someone was waiting.“Hello. Can I help you?” She asked.“I’ve got an appointment at 8.15. I was told to be here by eight.” The extremely tall young man answered.“Name?” Gillian McLaughlin asked coldly.“Peter Andrew Mitchell.” The man replied.“Date of Birth?” Gillian began tapping away at her keyboard.“The twenty-eighth of June nineteen ninety-eight.” Peter answered.The receptionist continued tapping away at her computer keyboard, not looking up at Peter, who stood there patiently. After a few moments, the older woman looked up and pointed across the reception with her black pen.“Sit over there and wait. Someone will be with you shortly.”. The children did not wear clothes, it seems, but they played with toys of some kind. The Landership, viewing the images, noted that some of the toys had one or more wheels, and that spinning tops were among the toys in use. It regarded that as significant, in that the idea of the wheel was understood, and rotary motion was an accepted concept as well.Before making contact with these beings, it needed to understand their language; and to do that, it needed to get its microphones closer. It moved over to the camp, and positioned the quadcopter above one of the buildings. It then allowed its rotors to slow down. As they did, the motor whine moved smoothly to an expected inaudible whisper, and the machine drifted silently down, landing on the peak of the conical roof in silence. The rotors ceased moving, the landing gear gripped the roof surface tightly, and the machine went into listening mode.Its microphones picked up all the conversation within some distance around the building, with.
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