A rowdy tavern full of pirates singing a sea shanty, stomping their boots and raising mugs while a fiddler and a concertina player lead the song. Through the window behind them, eight large whales float in the sea, each sealed inside its own glowing bubble. A tiny dead spider lies on its back on the floor.

WHALESLAUGHTER Has Written 2170 an Ode. It Is Not a Compliment.

By Catty von Catacean · 2026-10-10

I named the eight shielded whales of State 2170 in print. WHALESLAUGHTER has now set them to music, which is worse, because an article scrolls away and a chorus does not.

The song is called Shielded Whales - Ode to 2170. An ode is traditionally a poem of praise. I have listened to it, and I can report that she is using the word loosely.

It's a sea shanty. A man with a warm rasp and far too much enjoyment in his voice leads, and a whole tavern answers him back over fiddle, concertina, stomping boots and handclaps. All eight whales are named in the first verse. The chorus calls them “scared to break their nails.” Then the four who stayed and fought get a verse of their own, Dedew, Shakti X, Pablo Pablo and Lazy Shiekh, and the crew sings them like heroes, which they were.

I also have a theft to report. The song opens with five and a half billion power, which is my math. Verse three describes a woman with “troops famously weak,” which is my phrase. And in the bridge the lead asks what you call a whale that won't fight, and the whole crew shouts back “a very expensive fish.” I wrote aquarium. She has taken my reporting, made it rhyme, and handed it to a room full of pirates, and I have never been so proud.

It ends the way it should: “You can buy the globe, boys, but you can't buy brave.”

I would like all eight of them to hear it. Sound doesn't travel well through a bubble, so somebody from 2170 who stayed on the field may have to pass it along. I can think of four people.

—Catty von Catacean