They lower the ladder first. Then the mesh sling. The silver bucket of fish stays on the side — for now. “Ready?” the marine biologist asks, turning to her team. A veterinarian and four volunteers nod. They’re standing on a wooden deck, looking into what used to be a sewage treatment tank. Three stories below, a baby dolphin named Nicholas is swimming slowly, clockwise, circling the concrete walls that have become his world. Seldom shifting speed or direction, barely swishing his tail, he glides around and around and around the steep walls. Every two or three minutes, he surfaces to breathe. The baby dolphin was sunburned over one-third of his body. His sleek, pewter skin is spongy and yellow-white from the base of his bottlenose all the way down his dorsal fin. “Let’s hope he eats a little better for us today,” the biologist says, climbing down the ladder toward the warm water. It’s been almost a month now, and biologists aren’t sure how long he can hold on. They’re force-feeding the orphan chopped herring and antacids, giving him pain medicine and rubbing herbal balm on his burns. They’re testing his blood, checking his heart and count...