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"How can you tell?"
"It's quite obviously summer time jes like the scientists said it would be, mate. These persons are all clad in full skirts. Your males di'n't...doesn't...don't typically wear skirts lessen, of course, they was...were...unless their heritage descended from Scots but them kin's o' people haint arrived in these parts yet."
Another distraction for Pointer. "These parts? Do you know when we are?"
"Not for certain, you unnerstan', mate, but examinin' their dress I'd estimate where we are supposed to be but about 300 years too early."
"You recognize their dress?"
"Oh, certainly. History books don't....doesn't...history books seldom lie about dress codes."
"If you know all that, why don't you know who they are?"
"We haint been introduce't proper, that's why. But, I can tell you they are probably Cheyenne ladies."
"Have you learned their language, yet?"
"Why would I do that, mate?"
"Well, you learned Arapaho quick enough."
"Different case."
"What the hell is different about the two cases?"
"In one case, you wish't I knew the language and your wish is pret" near always my comman', you know."
"I should have read your manual more close, b-ren. You could drive me crazy...Was that your thought I detected there, the one that speculated on how short the drive would be? Was that yours? Oh, never mind. Pay attention, now, because I am hereby formally wishing you could speak Cheyenne."
Pointer waited a few minuets, his gaze locked on the woman who had asked the question. The entire group held this position for what seemed to Pointer to be an eternity before he turned back to the ovinulacrum. "Well?"
"Okay, I speak Cheyenne but you already knew that so what's your problem now?"
"What did she ask a minute ago?"
"I'd rather not say."
"What?!! I'm in the middle of a possible situation and you'd rather not say. Well, I damned sure wish you would."
"Now you remember the rules. Now, when I'd rather not say, you decide to remember the rules. Typical human behavior, just so damned typical."
"I'm waiting."
"Is there some kin' of require't response time I'm boun' to? If there is, no one program't me so how the hell would I know?"
"I'm waiting."
The thought came slowly, as if painful in the delivery: "She ask't you what kin' of Spirit-forsaken critter I might be. She obviously is unaware of the lines, the breeding, the ages of development that I represent. She thinks I'm some kind of spirit creature, a djinn, a brownie, an elf, a leprechaun, somethin' along those lines. She's fairly damned certain I hain't no proper critter. She thinks I might make a good pet."
Pointer indulged in a mental smirk. "She's wrong about that. I'll testify in any court you name you won't make anyone a proper pet."
The ovinulacrum attempted another mental huff but this one came off less successfully than the last.
"Now, give me some words for these ladies."
Still annoyed with Pointer's lack of empathy, the b-ren gave him a string of words which Pointer enunciated as carefully as he as was able: "<Are you three doing anything tonight and would you like to do it with me?>"
The trio exchanged glances, frost replacing any warmth that wasn't clear before.