"It's a Pre." The nurse's voice was full of finality. "Ten toes."
"It can't be." The mother gasped. She looked from the nurse to the doctor. "I'm a Trans. Brian is a Trans. The chances are..."
"Occasionally two fully-Trans parents will produce a Pre," the doctor said. "I'm sorry." He took the child and handed it to me. "The social worker will take over now."
"But what will happen to it?" The father reached, but I was too quick.
"Next time," the doctor said, as I fled the room and headed to Disposal.
As soon as I passed the last set of cameras, I veered left. "Hurry," someone urged.
I didn't need reminding.
"The red door," I whispered to the child. "We just have to get through the red door."
And we did.
I pressed the child into the arms of Lawrence. My job was done.
The Evolution from Pre to Transhuman was slow. The two outside toes on each foot shortened, then stopped growing altogether. Wisdom teeth disappeared. Brains were re-wired, literally. People developed the ability to disassemble their bodies, digitizing themselves and traveling across the internet. Transhumans developed the ability to clone themselves; to carry a thousand years of information inside their heads; to repair the parts that had worn down.
Eventually, the differences between the Pres and the Trans became too great.
"Do you blame God?" Lawrence asked, pulling back the blanket to peer at the child. "Do you blame nature?"
I shook my head. "I blame humanity."
Lawrence nodded. "Dee will take it from here." He handed the child to his daughter and signed off on the paperwork that would guarantee the safety of the child.
"Thank you." I sank into a chair and removed the sandals I'd worn for the eighteen hours I'd waited in the delivery room.
Just before he broke apart and dissolved into bits, Lawrence looked at my feet. "Freak," he said.
I laughed and began rubbing my aching toes.
All ten of them.
This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was freak and was based on some predictions about human evolution.