It was Tuesday by the time the Tenth Clonezone had been traversed, and the Wadk Clergy of Beltsville, Mistal, eleventh sector, snapped open the crates. Those sentient, mu-energy nanobits transentered the Oblivion Central Computatime Facility nearby, and before the Wadks could guffaw (it wasnít really a guffaw...just sort of a series of muffled grunts that sounded like stained new Krystoflex), she had webbed her thoughtfield control and reconstituted.
"Iím not the least bemused by this turn of events," she announced in Emissarian, but to no avail as the Wadks had given up hearing since the tintinnabulistic days of the Tumís World Transfer.
"Iíll teach you Woks to mess with a First-Order Emissary of the Inter-Mutant Galactic Associated Malpractice League!" And with that she sent forth an organized flurry of megathoughts, melting many Wadks into swirling pools resembling the unsweetened chocolate, a rainbow state from which they had developed centuries earlier. Since their (now) silicon-based molecular structure was no longer a protection from the Clone Field Battalion, the appearance of a severe uprising was flashed through Intime Computagraph 16 to the master Wadk/Clone Disarmament Oversight Force in sector 10-B. True to their assignments, the Krafgs in charge oversaw this severe warning as well, reassigning the entire Cloneforce from sector 11 to sector 15, safe from the melting Wadks and Treflin¶s shouts.
About that theta-parallel time, Melin and Forsander, in their third incarnation since the Scandinavian Earthwars, greeted the Treflin-mosaic with warm, delicate drools. She wiped the slippery ejecta all over her exoself and drooled back in ecstatic, replicating ripples.
"Welcome," she cried simultaneously with herself. "I had hoped that the Miserforce Life League would let you come in. Itís good of them to do that, especially in these hard times."
She had misspoken. In sector 11 there were never hard times, and the Miserforce Militia swooped down, plucking Treflin away from her siblings and forcing her to do Multipenance by eating e-protected ForeCentury cornflake tablets between snatches of a reconstituted McGuffyburger. She vomited. The Miserforce was pleased, and released her to convalesce in the ninth sector Pod for the Unwished, Unwashed and Unwed (PUUU), which had been established, fortunately, 13 years before as a replacement for the FrugaHomes that bred squalor and misery for the pre-enlightened 22nd Century Unicommand Welfare Disbursement Center.
But, as she faced her first hours in PUUU, Treflin began to mourn the loss of her Smegophone, as well as all those Sensory Seven pills she had been forbidden to ingest during her days spent as boxes of Wadk Excrecrackers. The twitching became unbearable, and she sought to rescind her contributions to the Frozen Family Tree Preservation Foundation. Too late. Mum and Daddy would be there for dinner, and she had no choice but to devour them -- such were the rules of the ninth sectorís PUUU. Melin and Forsander wet their exopants in sympathy, and prayed for another future.