The following are records of the processing procedures undergone by the would-be passengers of the colony of Cresthaven. They are a detailed chronicling of the gathered information and the acceptance or rejection of the individuals thereby processed.
The first of these called is one Alex Hastings, Planet Cambridge.
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Gliding silently over the lush, green hills of eastern continental Planet Cambridge, a Pelican armored transport bee-lined to the planet's arguably small capitol. The hull of the vessel was adorned with paintings of black roses, the emblem of the city of Cresthaven, underscored with the colony's name. The sounds of night washed warmly over and mingled with the humming of the transport's engine as it approached its destination. To men and women on the ground, the only brief, fleeting sign of human life on board was a poorly defined human silhouette shining out against the black night.
After several minutes, the transport entered the greater capitol area and was forced to slow its speed to an inconvenient crawl until it found the landing plateau it was searching for. Landing struts swung out from beneath the ship and bounced under the weight upon its grounding. The loading and boarding ramp was released from lock with a pop and gentle hiss before descending to the pad. A single, unremarkable man walked to the landing pad while the engine thrummed into slumber and there waited, unmoving, for his charge to arrive.
The sounds of the city surrounding him, he waited to greet Alex Hastings.
The shadows and beams of light streaked across Alex's face like the bars of a cell. Looking around, he might as well have been in prison; the floor was cold, the air was damp, and his head was throbbing like a strobe light. As his vision cleared, Alex began to recognize his surroundings as a dark storage shed, filled with some sort of gardening equipment. His head always throbbed after nights like this, which recently seemed to consist of every night. He would have a fairly clear mind up until about late afternoon each day, after which he'd black out and wake up in some strange, dark room like the one he was in now. This had been happening for around two weeks now, and today seemed like no exception.
He took a quick assessment of the situation; a habit he had gotten into over the past few days, as these "blackouts" had become more and more severe. He was fully clothed (which was a plus,) had in his wallet a few 20 credit notes, and was carrying a travel bag filled with a large set of shirts, his medication, and one very wet towel.
He was startled out of his concentration by a sharp rap on the door of the shed.
"Sir, your transport has arrived.'They' are waiting," said the unknown figure, in the typical enunciated Cambridge accent.
"I'll be right along, Jeeves," answered Alex reflexively. *Jeeves!?* he though to himself, *How the bloody hell do I know this man's name?*
"Good to know, sir. Your ticket has already been processed. Thank you for remembering."
*So his name was Jeeves...* though Alex. Situations like this had been cropping up more and more recently, but Alex though he had handled most of them fairly well. His thinking was clearer than ever, now that he was out of the hospital. He had finished his Theory of Planetary De-Magnetization, was reading more than he had ever read before. What's more, he no longer found himself feeling awkward in social situations, and was finally able to function under mental pressure. As far as he was concerned, the blackouts were a small price to pay for this 'new and improved' Alex Hastings.
He gathered his belongings into a pile, and emerged from the shed. The light blinded him briefly, but luckily, he had remembered to pack sunglasses. From there he walked, his shirt torn and his hair a mess, towards the darkly painted Transport waiting for him on the dock. He turned towards the man standing at the end of the ship's boarding ramp. Mentally, Alex assessed the man's features.
*Roughly 5' 6", around 78 kilograms weight, one pupil slightly more dilated than the other, and well dressed, except for the small splatter of blood on his left shoe. All in all, a very average fellow.*
"Well then," said Alex, looking up at the man's face, "I'm... Err... Well, I'm... Alex... Yes, that's it! Alex, Alex Hastings. Nice to meet you."
With those words, a small smile crept across Alex's face.
The man was dressed in a suit, old enough in style to have an air of rusticity yet accented with touches of modern fashion - bold colors and harder edges. His hair was well-kept atop a pale complexion and sharp, attractive features. He quirks his head to the side, analyzing your features and behavior.
A strange man, this one.
He extends a hand.
"A pleasure to finally meet you, Mister Hastings. In fact, it is always a pleasure to meet those our Host takes an interest in. They tend to be... Well, you will in short enough order. I am the Speaker, a representative of our Host on Cresthaven. If you will please follow me on board to the conference chamber, we will begin signing along the dotted lines. Your things will be collected once on board and taken to your room for the duration of the trip."
He begins to walk up the ramp, pausing briefly to turn back to you.
