Lucy was pregnant.

In fact, she was due to give birth any day, and Global Net News had ensured that the event would be a media sensation, broadcast live over the Internet to more than five billion people. Today, Lucy was the last dolphin alive anywhere in the world. Tomorrow, perhaps, there would be another. Provided, of course, that nothing went wrong.

The pregnancy itself was a miracle of genetics, the one single silver lining in the black cloud of scandals and failures that had brought the entire Genetic Research Corporation to the very brink of bankruptcy. Now, this one event had captured the hearts of the world; the merchandising rights alone were worth billions of dollars. If the GRC could save the dolphin from extinction, then maybe the world could forgive, if not exactly forget, the countless human tragedies that had earned it the nickname of "The Freakshow."

Miranda Jones did not believe she would ever forgive. She knew the whole thing was merely a publicity exercise to save the GRC, not the dolphin, from extinction. Once she had believed that she could make a difference, bring the truth to the world but nine years on the inside of the journalism business had proved otherwise. The truth was that despite all the platitudes and political correctness, Freaks get nowhere in life.

The decline had begun thirty years ago, with the GRC's most spectacular and hideous accident. Attempts were made to bolster the declining dolphin population with human genetic material, and likewise dolphin genes had been used to increase human intelligence. Then a dolphin at the GRC Institute gave birth to twins; one normal dolphin and one Freak, half cetacean, half human. The experiments were swiftly halted.

Now, the GRC Institute was quiet. Interviews were over, the camera-crew had gone back to the studio to edit the next installment of the show. The evening sun reflected on the surface of the dolphin's pool, and beyond the security gates it shone like burnished gold on the calm sea beyond. Like a belladonna flower, its beauty masked the toxins that lay within.

Miranda wheeled herself over to the edge of Lucy's pen. Barely able to see over the concrete wall from her wheelchair, Miranda clicked her tongue and Lucy swam to greet her. The dolphin rested her chin on the wall so Miranda could reach to stroke her smooth grey skin.

Poor Lucy. She was too old now, to be a baby machine. Miranda could see the tiredness in her eyes and the characteristic cheerful dolphin smile now seemed to be an expression of sufferance. The last dolphin in the world carried the immense weight of her species' survival in her womb.

Miranda squirmed in her chair under the blanket that concealed her cetacean tail. She felt hot and uncomfortable, and longed for nothing more than to dive into Lucy's pool; to feel cold, clean water on her parched skin. The discomfort of having to sit in a wheelchair was the price she paid for privacy but sometimes she could not help thinking that she had been overcharged.

"Don't you ever go home?" said a familiar voice.

Miranda spun her chair around and smiled at the young man who stood behind her, mop and bucket in hand. He wore a T-shirt bearing a cartoon caricature of a dolphin, with the logo "I love Lucy" emblazoned across it. Despite his tribute to the consumer frenzy, Lucy's keeper was probably the only person left in the world who cared about the dolphin as much as Miranda did.

"If I miss the birth, Dan, I'll be sacked," she said. "The whole world is depending on me."

"I don't think it will be today," Danny said, setting down his bucket. He sighed and the dolphin, sensing his melancholy, gave a quiet whistle.

"You don't seem particularly happy about the birth," Miranda commented.

"I'm not," he replied. "The baby's chance of survival is about one in ten." Miranda nodded. She had been instructed to present an optimistic, upbeat show for the news, but in reality, the outlook was bleak. Lucy had been pregnant nine times in the past fifteen years, and each one had either aborted early, or presented a stillbirth. This would be her last chance.

"Cetaceans never thrived in captivity," Danny continued. "They become. mentally disturbed. Often they rejected their offspring, refused to suckle them." he paused. "Sometimes they ate them."

Miranda frowned at Danny. "You think Lucy is insane?"

"I don't know." He turned to face the dolphin, and stroked her nose. Miranda noticed, not for the first time, his deformed hands with just one finger and a thumb on each.

"How can you bear to work for the GRC?" she asked. "They made you. what you are." She never used the word Freak, except when referring to herself.

Danny shrugged. "I don't think about who pays me. My only concern is Lucy's well-being."

"Lucy's well-being is nowhere in the equation," Miranda said sourly. "She is a marketing asset."

"And how about you?" Danny replied, looking down on her with ice-blue eyes. "Your precious Global Net News keeps the publicity machines turning. If it wasn't for you, everyone would leave her alone."

Miranda stared back at him. His words stung, she felt a surge of anger rising in her but she fought it down. After all, Danny did not know anything about her. She looked away from him and concentrated on Lucy who was idly swimming back and forth. "I asked for this assignment for personal reasons," Miranda said quietly. "I'm not just an ordinary Freak."

"What do you mean?"

Without a reply, Miranda turned aside the blanket and stretched out her tail. Danny's eyes widened and understanding half-flickered in his face but he did not speak.

"I was born in this very pool," Miranda said quietly. "Lucy is my twin sister."

Miranda took Danny's advice after much persuasion, and went home. Nevertheless, she felt the way she imagined an expectant father might feel, helplessly anticipating news that was at the same time both dreaded and desired. She did not sleep well but dozed on and off, until the call came in the early hours of the morning.

She blinked at the vidi-phone screen flickering in the early dawn light, and it was a few moments before she was sufficiently awake to recognize the face, or understand what he was saying. It was Danny, but he looked stressed and uneasy. "I think you had better get over here," he said quietly. "Just you. No cameras."

Miranda nodded and half an hour later she arrived alone at the GRC Institute. Danny met her at the door but there was none of the urgency or excitement she would have expected with the imminent birth. One look at his red-rimmed eyes told the whole story.

Miranda's mouth was suddenly dry and she began to shake. "Lucy's dead, isn't she?"

Danny gave a tiny nod and then he knelt beside the wheelchair and threw his arms around Miranda's shoulders. "God, Miranda, I'm so sorry."

"What about the baby?" Miranda asked quietly.

This time he shook his head. "It's over," he said quietly. "But I thought you should see."

Miranda followed him down quiet corridors that smelt faintly of disinfectant, like a hospital. He pushed open a door marked "Pathology" and the first thing Miranda saw was a large humped shape on a steel table, concealed by a green sheet. But Danny made for a freezer cabinet at the far end of the room. He pulled it open to reveal another green sheet, this one concealing a far smaller shape.

For some reason that Miranda could not quite pin down, she was not at all surprised by what she saw beneath that green sheet. The only emotion she felt was rage. "My God," she said. "They did it again."

The media storm surrounding the final collapse of the GRC and the tragic extinction of the dolphin lasted for six months, and climaxed with the demolition of the Institute. Miranda Jones sat watching the bulldozers move in, and she did not move until there was nothing left but a pile of dust and rubble. Then she turned to face the lens of the Digi-cam, and forced her best professional smile.

"As the GRC Institute is demolished, legislation is even now being rushed through the senate to prevent any future repetition of events here just six months ago. This legislation will be widely welcomed by the environmental lobby, but public opinion is that it has come too late, and at too high a price. Whether we will learn from the mistakes made here still remains to be seen. This is Miranda Jones, reporting for Global Network News."

Miranda relaxed at the signal from the director and a few bystanders rushed forward for her autograph. She signed them with a smile, a genuine one this time. Miranda the mermaid had become a global celebrity, and she no longer concealed her tail beneath a blanket.

Danny came to greet her with a kiss and she squeezed his misshaped hand.

"You look tired, sweetheart," he said. "Are you feeling alright?"

Miranda nodded, but she did not tell him that she had been feeling unwell for three days. She placed her hand on her belly and felt the slightest flutter of movement inside, and she smiled at him.

"Danny," she whispered, feeling a sudden rush of nervous anticipation. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, sweetheart," Danny replied, giving her another kiss. "Why?"