taCity

This year’s ceremony was not going to be like the rest. 125 years old is a big milestone after all. To celebrate, King Elon was going to address Fiefdom Terra and rumours were swirling he was going to offer some gifts to mark the occasion. The excitement was palpable.

So, as the date clicked to 2098, the workers of the whole planet watched as King Elon prepared for his annual cell-regeneration ceremony. At 125 years old, he was a skeletal figure, but he still was able to (just about) bounce around the stage with the same childish exuberance he showed back in the dark times of Trumpland, before the glorious days of the Muskian Empire.

With his voice amplified through the vast networks of Neuralink subscribers, the entire planet of Terra tuned in (willingly or otherwise) as this now familiar ritual unfolded from the fortified X-Base inside Mount Olympus on Mars. The base, a sprawling city carved into the ancient Martian mountain, was home to the plutocrats, the ultra-elite who had long abandoned the asphyxiating atmospheres of Earth for the synthetic azures of the Red Planet. Their exuberant existence was sustained by the labour of billions of Earth-bound workers, toiling in the Tesla camps that were housed in the gargantuan, but fragile polar biospheres that housed all human life on the planet since the great fires of the 2030s destroyed most liveable habitats on the main continents. The AI systems that managed the synthetic air circulation, grub protein rationing, sunlight, and shelter allocations in return for labour units were archaic but functional.

As the camp workers downed tools at precisely ten minutes pre-sunrise, the ceremony began with the sound of trumpets synthesized from AI-composed symphonies. The drone cameras zoomed in on the central nave of the Grand Chamber, adorned with holographic murals depicting Musk’s greatest triumphs: the first Martian colony, the conquest of spaceflight, and the perfection of Neuralink. As the trumpets blared, a fleet of classic Cybertrucks filed down the nave, with the front few vehicles towing large cylindrical pods filled with a shimmering crimson liquid; the carefully filtered blood of 1000s of humanoids, farmed in the Tesla camps. For the Terra workers whose labour had gone to creating it, they beamed with pride: those that were able to stand had their chests puffed out.

“Citizens of Terra and Mars” Musk’s voice echoed, rich with the digital clarity of his enhanced vocal cords. “Today, we celebrate resilience. The resilience of humanity and of progress!”

The humanoids, from which the blood was garnered were grown specifically for its regenerative properties, had never known freedom nor indeed consciousness; being denied Neuralink during the gestation period made sure of that. Their ‘lives’ then were brief and devoid of agency, existing solely for this moment. And for the workers who tend to the gestation pods, generate the fuel, and constantly filter the symbiotic fluids, each humanoid that is mulched to form the regenerative blood for the plutocrats is a triumph. And who knows? Maybe the humanoid that they tended is the one that sustains King Elon himself.

The ceremony was broadcast in excruciating detail to every corner of the Neuralink network. Premium subscribers could experience Musk’s euphoria directly, their neural pathways linked to his as the infusion coursed through his veins. For the Terra Polar camp-bound labourers though, the spectacle was mandatory viewing even if they weren’t lucky enough to have a premium subscription.

As the blood was infused to all the plutocrats, the cameras focused on King Elon of course. His frail frame straightened, his wrinkles softened, and his pale skin glowed with an otherworldly vitality. His neural pathways lit up, transmitting waves of ecstasy to those who had paid for the privilege. Across Earth, premium subscribers moaned in collective euphoria, a stark contrast to the hollow stares of those who watched in silence, their Neuralink implants deactivated as punishment for unmet quotas. After the ceremony ended came usual announcement of oxygen, food and shelter allocations for all Terra residents for the next year. Failure to meet quotas in the air farms, the solar mines, or the waste reclamation facilities meant reduced rations as per usual.

But next came the surprise that Tesla camps had waited for. From his giant throne, Musk addressed them directly. The drone camera zoomed in on his rejuvenated face, every pore and hair follicle a testament to the power of human ingenuity, and the hard physical labour of the Polar camps.

“And to the Tesla Polar Camp workers, thank you all again for another year of service” he said, his voice dripping with simulated warmth. “You are the backbone of my progress. Because of your dedication, I am pleased to announce that free air will be provided for the next year to all those who met their targets”.

The announcement sent a ripple of excitement and cheering across the camps, at least for those who would have a whole year’s worth of breathable premium air. For those who wouldn’t, it was a pertinent reminder of their servitude and a reminder to do better next year.

As the ceremony ended and the sun peaked above the horizon, the AI siren sounded the next period of humanoid farming, and the polar camp workers picked up their tools once more. With the adulation of King Elon ringing in their craniums, this year was sure to be brighter.