It was a rather cloudy spring day in Cambridge, and Clare cycled through the morning traffic and towards Emmanuel Library. It was out of the university term, so she wasn't expecting anything too stressful. As she parked her bike, one of the porters leaned out and waved at her. "Morning Clare. Watch yer step, theres a flying saucer parked in the paddock." "Will do Mick, thanks." And sure enough, there was. A dull silver thing, square and blocky, with four spindly landing legs and a Mitsubishi symbol on one side. It's pilot was sitting on the steps of the library. Well, presumably its pilot. The figure was short and wide, with little black bulbous eyes (five of them) surrounding a long snout on a blue hairless head. It was wearing dark blue robes of some description with indigo trim. You got some strange students around the place, but not usually this strange. It looked up and wurbled musically at Clare as she crossed to the doors, waving a small silvered box in one skinny and three fingered hand. "Wurble shlurble durble murble" said the alien. "Good morning young miss, I hope you are the archivist of this establishment?" said the box in a polished and refined British accent. Clare stopped some feet away. "Yes. For the moment. You're sitting on my steps?" (wurble murble kurble slurble) "I must regretfully return this to you." The alien reached into his robes and pulled out a battered philosophical text, On the Need for Hope. The spine displayed the usual classifications for Emmanuel library. "It may, I fear, be a little late."
Clare looked down at him, and the alien shuffled sideways slightly. She unlocked the doors, turned on the lights, booted up the computers, and went to make a cup of tea. The alien followed, hesitantly. "Whats your name?" (Sckurble Wurbleschnik. Zurble durble murble?) "You may call me Wurbleschnik. Shall I just leave the book here?" Clare poked her head out of the tiny librarians alcove/kitchen "Oh no you don't! Stay right there, I need to check that book." Looking him up and down, she relented slightly. "Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?" Wurbleschnik was twitching his snout towards a used mug, still on the desk from several days ago. (Flurble schurble durble murble?) "What was in here, it smelt quite delicious?" "That was Amanda's hot chocolate. Want some?" (Querble!) "Yes please, if you would be so good."
Having served some drinks, Clare checked the library logs on the errant volume while Wurbleschnik pulled out a long straw with little lights set into the side and stuck it in his hot chocolate. A blue light flashed up and down the straw, then a little green one came on at the top. Wurbleschnik stuck his snout into the mug and started slurping in a carefully restrained manner. His book, Clare was irritated to note, was well overdue. By about fifty years. "Who had this out? Was it you?" (Burble flurble! Nurble kurble sturble zurble. Eurble turble furble flurble shurble purble. Clurble. Aelurble slurbel flurble durble durble) "Oh no, not I Miss! It was in the collection of my mentor, recently deceased. As I put it in my thesis bibliography, it was investigated and I was told I had to return it. Most embarrasing. And now my Tutor says I must return it posthaste, or...." "Or, don't tell me, you don't graduate." Wurbleschnik buried his snout in his hot chocolate in a recognisable cringe. Clare did some maths on a scrap of paper. "They are some fines to pay on this book." The alien pulled out a small black pouch and opened it. (Wurble durble. Kurble verble aureable sturble? Durbel turble) "I expected this. I believe gold is valued here? These are balls of the pure element." He pulled out several dull metallic balls, each the size of a marble. Clare picked one up and squeezed it. It was, with effort, squishy. She looked some things up online and did more maths. "Oh alright then. Seven of those." Wurbleschnik happily put down his mug and counted out seven golden marbles. Clare dropped them into the till, and wrote him out a receipt. He carefully placed the receipt in a small crystal box, and passed her the book. It was in better condition than some held on to by university Fellows forever and a day.
Clare looked up to see the alien hurrying out. "Hey!" (Querble?) "Yes Miss?" "Why do you have a mitsubushi spaceship?" She recieved a quizzical look. A quick sketch helped. (Durble! Shlurble zurble murble) "Ah, no. Thats the fuel intake hatch symbol." "Fair enough, good journey home." (Yurble durble) "Thank you Miss. Good day to you."
He left, and she heard his little spaceship take off. The ducks weren't impressed, and said so, loudly. The library quietened down. Clare finished her tea, and found that Wurbleschnik had left his chemical analyser gadget in his mug. She also found that at some point, he'd sneaked off with the jar of drinking chocolate.
An hour or so later, some rather harrassed young men from the RAF bustled in, but of course, she was only able to offer them tea.