THE SCRUNCHED FACE OF OTTER 820 PRESSED AGAINST THE GRILLE OF HER CARRYING BOX, AND SHE WAS SQUEALING, the way sea otters do when they’re panicked or indignant or calling for their kin. (Think of a gull’s cry, but sharper.) She had dark eyes, deep brown fur, and a radio transmitter implanted in her belly. She was 16 months old, a sea otter adolescent, and unsettling events had so far marked the whole course of her life. Abandoned as a newborn, lifted into a truck by rescuers, bottle-fed by black-cloaked humans, and raised by a sea otter foster mother in an outdoor aquarium pool, 820 was one small part of a long ecological experiment—an atonement, of sorts, for the massacre of her species more than a century ago.
So she was…