Berwick the shark had been functionally blind for almost two hundred years, but he’d be damned if that was going to stop him from giving his grandson, Lutzow, the best 150th birthday any Somniosus microcephalus had ever known. Lutz was now a full-grown Greenland shark, and a celebration was in order. So, despite Berwick himself being nearly five hundred years old, the two had set off on an adventure to mark the occasion. For the past month, Lutz and his grandfather had been slowly but steadily navigating the frigid water of the North Atlantic on their way to the Arctic Circle. Berwick had given his grandson a few different options for commemorating his maturity, but Lutz had been resolute in his choice. And so it was that shortly, the pair would be convening, along with thousands of other sharks, in the glacial meltwater of the 66th parallel to watch the 2026 summer Orcalympics.
“You’re sure you don’t want a trip to the Titanic instead?” Berwick had pressed. “When I was your age, exploring shipwrecks was all my friends and I wanted to do. Why, I remember the first time I saw the HMS Feversham, oh, must have been around 1880 or so, the hull was still completely intact, you wouldn’t believe how—”
“Grandpa,” Lutz had interrupted. “Wreckhopping hasn’t been cool for centuries. Besides, the portholes are too small. Only Sharpnoses and Lanterns can fit through them. And there’s nothing good to see on the outside. It’s just a giant heap of rusticles.”
Berwick had frowned, which caused the copepods on his eyes to wake and briefly bioluminesce. Like his grandfather, and like all the other first born males in their family, Lutzow had been named after a shipwreck. This was a great honor, Berwick was tempted to remind him, as wrecks were structures of immense value. They provided shelter and helped foster community—and that meant food. But he held his basihyal. The younger generations had different ideas about, well, everything. And Berwick, at the tender age of four hundred and seventy-three, was starting to feel a bit out of touch with them.
Case in point: his second idea for a birthday trip had been dismissed out of hand. Berwick had offered to take Lutz to see the Hibernia Platform in the Jeanne d’Arc Basin, but his grandson had been highly scornful.
“An oil rig?” Lutz had groaned. “Grandpa, what is there to do at an oil rig?”
Berwick could think of one thing at least, but he knew Lutz’s mother would be furious if he suggested it. Ramming the legs of the rig in hopes of toppling a delicious human or two into the water probably wasn’t an appropriate activity to model these days. Times really were changing.
When Berwick at last suggested the Orcalympics, Lutz couldn’t contain his excitement. The event was legendary among greenies, though fewer and fewer were making the long journey these days. Heavy maritime traffic and overfishing made for dangerous travel and scarcer prey along the way. It had taken Berwick some effort to convince Lutz’s parents to let him go.
“Are you sure? Grandpa, it’s so far! The Orcalympics! I can’t believe it! Seal tossing! Breaching! Kelping! Oh my god, the salmon hat event! The guys are gonna be shagreen with envy! Oh Grandpa, this is the best birthday present ever!”
Copepods or not, Berwick could see he’d made his grandson very happy.
- - -
They’d left almost immediately. Berwick’s poor vision meant Lutz had to scavenge for both of them, and the slowed-down AMOC would triple their travel time. The younger shark had grown into an excellent hunter, though he made his grandfather wait any time some strange new creature caught his eye. When that happened, Lutz couldn’t stop himself from investigating. The murky coastal depths he’d grown up in no longer held any surprises for him, but the further north they swam, the more exotic the wildlife. The cold, too, was a wonderful sensation. As a Greenland shark, Lutz certainly knew cold. But the frigid current flowing down from the arctic was something else altogether, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
Berwick, meanwhile, was a world-class tour guide. Blindness was no impediment to his deep, instinctual sense of direction, and along the way he educated his grandson on the landmarks and legends of the icy northern sea. He told Lutz about the hundreds of human expeditions his generation of sharks had witnessed from far below the waves.
“It’s a privilege,” said Berwick, “to belong to the only species living long enough to watch the whole of human history unfold, in their quest to explore.”
“Exploit is more like it,” said Lutz, somewhat bitterly.
“That too,” agreed Berwick, sadly.
Lutz was a smart shark. He knew that for every trading vessel that sat on the ocean floor, there were a dozen warships, too. He knew his home was being polluted and stripped of its resources every single day, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was part of why he admired the orcas so much. They, at least, were doing something about it. Lutz hoped the boat attacks would continue. Maybe he’d even get to see one on this trip…
“Hey,” said Berwick, changing the subject. “Keep an eye out for illhelvi. If the stories are true, they live around these parts. Wouldn’t want to come across one of those alone in the benthic.” He winked at his grandson—at least, he thought he did. He couldn’t be sure exactly, what with the parasites making it difficult to see.
It was at that moment that a great shadow spread over them. Lutz looked up and saw the silhouettes of hundreds—no, thousands—of sharks converging high above. Never in his life had he seen so many of his kind at once, and he realized they must have arrived at the Arctic’s southern border. That meant they were just hours away from the opening ceremony of the Orcalympics. Excitement overtook him, rippling through his milky grey body like electricity.
Close beside him, Berwick felt the shiver in the water. Unable to see what was happening at the water’s surface, he assumed his mention of the Icelandic evil whales had spooked Lutz. He tried to think of something reassuring to say that wouldn’t embarrass his grandson. One hundred and fifty wasn’t that old, after all. He was still just a kid, with centuries yet to go.