Elon Musk (Almost) Saves The World

by Lucien Young

Genres: Action & Adventure; Biographical; Humorous Fiction

Synopsis

The world's richest man faces the galaxy's deadliest threat!

When an ALIEN ARMADA menaces our planet, Earth's governments and armed forces find themselves powerless to resist. In desperation, humanity turns to one man: billionaire, futurist and Twitter addict ELON MUSK.

Elon has long styled himself as the real-life Tony Stark, but can everyone's favourite genius step up and become a hero? Or is he just an egotistical man-child whose only actual talent is self-promotion? Whatever happens, us non-plutocrats are in for a wild ride!

Release date: October 11, 2022

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 256

Sample

Olympus Mons: the tallest mountain in the solar system, two-and-a-half times the height of Everest. This had been the most impressive fact about the shield volcano until five years ago, when Earth’s greatest genius, Elon Musk, decided to make his home there. Xanadu Base sat in the central caldera, gleaming like a diamond against the rust-red landscape. Musk had designed it as an outpost, a seed that would grow into mankind’s first off-world colony. It was never his intention to take up residence there. However, tired of baseless criticism and shareholder lawsuits, he became determined to slip the surly bonds of Earth. In 2023, Elon had upped sticks and moved to Mars. Amid the silence of the red planet, he was free to think his massive thoughts in peace, unencumbered by lesser minds.

Now the year was 2028, and Musk had few regrets concerning his Martian sojourn. Indeed, that period had seen him at his most creatively fecund. Brilliant new ideas burst from his head: self-zipping trousers, bacon-flavoured beer, jetpacks that could be used by toddlers. He knew with absolute certainty that these inventions would revolutionise human existence and usher mankind towards a brighter future. And if they made him even more rich and famous, where was the harm in that? After all, he was the man who invented the electric car. Well, not technically, but he did have the idea to charge $100,000 for them.

Very occasionally he found himself missing some aspect of Earth life: an evening spent in fellowship, say, or the embrace of a good woman. But these complaints paled in comparison to Elon’s glorious purpose. He was fated to achieve the impossible and render homo sapiens an interplanetary species. Though he was too humble to admit it, Elon well understood that he was closer to a god than a man. While surveying his domain through one of Xanadu’s vast Duraglass windows, he would often reflect on his similarity to Dr Manhattan from Alan Moore’s Watchmen. It was the sort of nerdy reference that made his heart sing. ‘Hell yeah,’ he would murmur to himself. ‘That’s freaking epic.’

Elon may have been the only human on Mars, but he was never truly alone. When making the voyage from Earth, he had brought his two closest comrades, Gurk and Aars. Gurk was half human, half canine, a genetic hybrid created by mistake in one of Musk’s laboratories. The scientists had wanted to destroy this hideous chimera, but Elon took pity, raising him from a baby-puppy to a man-dog. Nowadays Gurk was eight feet tall, possessed of superhuman – and supercanine – strength. As such, he had been designated Elon’s personal bodyguard and Head of Security. Gurk fulfilled these roles admirably, despite the constant pain of his unnatural existence, and his tendency to sniff butts.

Aars was Elon’s butler, his name an acronym for Augmented Autonomous Robot Servant. As a lonely ten-year-old in Pretoria, Musk had built the polished-silver android to be his friend and constantly assure him of his genius. Effete, nervy and obsequious, Aars was the polar opposite of gruff, laconic Gurk.

Though Elon couldn’t be said to love anyone – he was beyond such trivial attachments – he was nonetheless fond of his inhuman companions. Gurk and Aars were essential to his research, and thus the future of mankind. Also, with Aars doing the cooking and cleaning, Elon had more time for Twitter. He spent, conservatively speaking, 80 per cent of his life on the notorious microblogging platform. Solving climate change and colonising planets was all well and good, but what was the point if he didn’t talk about it constantly? Plus, he needed to share dank memes and clap back at his haters.

On 1 August, at 2 p.m. Martian Standard Time, Elon Musk entered his Tweeting Chamber. The spherical room was specially designed to maximise his posting abilities, allowing him to produce takes of unprecedented heat. He sank into his ergonomic chair, cracked his knuckles, and settled in for his customary five hours of name-searching*. Perchance some ten-follower account had cast aspersions on his business practices, or described his stint hosting SNL as ‘brutally unfunny’. If so, that vile troll was about to face the collective fury of Elon’s 100 million Stans. What he saw upon logging on banished such thoughts in an instant.

The first thing he noticed was the trending topics:

#AlienInvasion#EndOfTheWorld#PrepareToBeProbed

Then there were the stunning images and videos that filled his feed. They showed a gargantuan ship, black and gleaming, which hung over New York like the sword of Damocles. Naturally, some Twitter users were sceptical, accusing the mainstream media of confecting the UFO to promote woke vaccines and drag-queen abortions. But most on the platform accepted this alarming new reality. Aliens were now a thing, and we each had to respond in our own way. Some called for unconditional surrender. Others advocated a pre-emptive nuclear strike. Others still tweeted out invitations to hastily convened orgies.

His mind racing even faster than usual, Elon Musk checked his mentions. Notification after notification sprang up, too quickly to count. The panicked masses were tweeting at him, their voices combined in one huge chorus. ‘Mr Musk,’ begged @ElonFan420, ‘return to Earth and protect mankind!’ @TeslaJunkie69 concurred: ‘Help us, Elon, you’re our only hope!’

The great man allowed himself a smirk: ‘Star Wars: Episode IV. Nice.’

But it wasn’t just the reference that stirred his heart. Reading these tweets, Elon Musk realised that he had missed something during his stay on Mars. It wasn’t conversation or physical intimacy, and it certainly wasn’t making eye contact. No – Elon missed being needed. He missed being a hero.

Moments later, Elon Musk emerged from the Tweeting Chamber and greeted his inhuman servants with a wide grin.

‘Aars, prepare my ship,’ he exclaimed. ‘I have a planet to save!’

* Twitter allows public figures to search their own names and see what millions of people are saying about them. Which is obviously great for their sanity.

Icarus 1, an electric rocket-ship of Elon’s own design, blazed through the icy void of space. No craft devised by mortal mind could rival its velocity. Other ships struggled to make the journey from Mars to Earth in seven months. The Icarus would reach its destination within the runtime of Spider-Man: No Way Home.

In a transparent cockpit at the vehicle’s nose sat Elon, resplendent in a scarlet-and-gold flight suit, whose fabric barely contained his ripped muscles and bulging crotch. Here, flying at 45 million miles per hour, he was in his element. Nobody disputed his claim to be Earth’s greatest pilot. The only thing he knew better than a spaceship’s controls was the female anatomy. But for all the pleasure that space-flight afforded him, Elon’s mind was on graver things. He turned his han. . .