He was standing with his back to Arthur watching the very last glimmers of light sink into blackness behind the horizon. He was tallish, elderly and dressed in a single long grey robe. When he turned his face was thin and distinguished, careworn but not unkind, the sort of face you would happily bank with. But he didn't turn yet, not even to react to Arthur's yelp of surprise.
Eventually the last rays of the sun had vanished completely, and he turned. His face was still illuminated from somewhere, and when Arthur looked for the source of the light he saw that a few yards away stood a small craft of some kind — a small hovercraft, Arthur guessed. It shed a dim pool of light around it.
The man looked at Arthur, sadly it seemed.
"You choose a cold night to visit our dead planet," he said.
"Who ... who are you?" stammered Arthur.
The man looked away. Again a kind of sadness seemed to cross his face.
"My name is not important," he said.
He seemed to have something on his mind. Conversation was clearly something he felt he didn't have to rush at. Arthur felt awkward.
"I ... er ... you startled me ..." he said, lamely.
The man looked round to him again and slightly raised his eyebrows.
"Hmmmm?" he said.
"I said you startled me."
"Do not be alarmed, I will not harm you."
Arthur frowned at him. "But you shot at us! There were missiles ..." he said.
The man chuckled slightly.