Botanical Babies
written by: Gregory Ballinger
“This isn’t the sort of place you come to have a baby.”
“Please state your names and reasons for being here,” the security guard asked, leaning into the vehicle.
“The Saps,” Mr Sap smiled, gripping the steering wheel. “My wife and I have an appointment with Doctor Bloomfield.”
The security guard stepped back and spoke into his walkie-talkie, then moments later, the barrier gate lifted. “Please follow the arrows to building seventeen.”
“Thank you,” Mr Sap waved, and the guard returned a barely perceptible nod of his head.
“This isn’t right,” Mrs Sap remarked, looking at the tall perimeter fence as they drove through the facility. “Perhaps we should go back?”
“Go back,” Mr Sap snapped, giving his wife a searching look. “We’re here because we want to start a family. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
“Of course not,” Mrs Sap sighed. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Driving through the complex, they passed many strange buildings, some that resembled large steel-framed greenhouses and one structure in the centre that had a vast concrete dome and armed security guards outside.
“Here we are,” Mr Sap chimed, parking outside a nondescript rectangular building with slit windows and a number seventeen on the side.
Upon entering, the automatic doors pinged open, revealing a lady sitting behind a reception desk, muttering to a plant.
“Sorry,” she apologised, waving them over. “It’s a habit of mine, talking to plants.”
“What plant is that?”
“A company plant,” the receptionist answered. “Bred by the company to keep me company out here on my own.”
“What company exactly is this?” Mr Sap queried, looking around for clues.
“If you go through, Doctor Bloomfield will answer any of your questions,” the receptionist smiled, pressing a button, and another door opened in the wall. The Saps walked through and noticed the receptionist whispering to the plant again while the foliage seemed to angle to the sound of her voice.
Strolling down the corridor, they walked past a long window with a large creche on the other side, filled with sleeping babies. Each baby had a plant next to them, and looking through to the other side, the domed building dominated the view outside.
“Marvelous, aren’t they?” an earthy voice broke in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m Doctor Bloomfield, and I’m sure you have many questions. Please, right this way.”
In Doctor Bloomfield’s office, they took a seat while the doctor scanned through his computer. “You were referred to us because you’re too focused on your careers to get pregnant,” the doctor stated abruptly, but before they could reply, added, “Which is perfectly normal, and a lot more common than it sounds.”
“What is this place?” Mr Sap continued to probe.
“Botanic Science Division,” the doctor smiled. “We see ourselves as one big tree with many branches. One offshoot, may cater for genetically modified crops under our greenhouses, while another may cater for medical research.”
“What about the domed building outside?” Mrs Sap asked quizzically.
“Botanical weapons,” the doctor whispered with significant pantomime. “Everything from pepper spray to botanical booby traps is designed in there, but don’t worry, that building is the most heavily guarded on the facility.”
“And this building?” Mrs Sap pressed, still unsure.
“Botanical babies,” the doctor beamed, and the Saps stared back blankly. “Are you two gardeners?” They both shook their heads. “Let me see your hands,” the doctor implored. “No green fingers or thumbs,” the doctor laughed, and they put their hands back down again. “Are you plant lovers?”
“We work in the city,” Mr Sap explained, woodenly, “in offices filled with artificial plants.”
“I’m a plant lover,” the doctor grinned, pointing to himself. “I’m sure you’ll be plant lovers too by the end of all this.”
“We don’t understand,” Mr Sap admitted.
“Do you remember learning about the birds and bees at school? Well, this is less about that and more about pollination,” the doctor rambled on, conversationally. “Plants have a reproductive system much like our own, flowers have male and female parts, and we’ve cultivated a species that accepts both human eggs and sperm.”
“What kind of plant?”
“Its botanical name is difficult to pronounce,” the doctor ploughed on, evasively. “What matters today, is there’s a healthy ovary waiting in the other room to be utilised. Your baby will grow within the womb of the plant and hatch from a seed when it’s ready to come into this world.”
“What’s the success rate?”
“Do you remember the sleeping babies?” the doctor reminded them. “That was the first batch, all delivered successfully and blossoming well.” The Saps looked at one another. “I know this may sound like I’m leading you up the garden path, but the choice is yours, you can walk away now, or you could be holding your baby in nine months.”
Mrs Sap gave her husband a subtle nod. “What do we need to do?
“Excellent, let’s not beat around the bush,” the doctor decided, and suddenly the door opened to reveal a nurse, waiting. “Mrs Sap will be taken to another room, where a simple procedure will be carried out to retrieve one of her eggs.”
“What about me?” Mr Sap asked. “Do I need to go to another room to provide a sample?”
“Oh no, Mr Sap,” the doctor almost laughed. “The egg needs time to settle into the plant’s ovary, when the plant is ready, it will tell us.”
“How?” Mr Sap queried.
“By flowering, of course.”
“How lovely,” Mrs Sap commented while being led away, and Mr Sap felt a little pot-bound, like the walls were closing in.
Later that morning, Mrs Sap’s egg was successfully extracted, and the Saps were told to go home to await their call, which came exactly one week to the day.
“Mr Sap, I’m delighted to inform you that your wife’s egg was accepted and the plant is budding up.”
“That’s great,” Mr Sap agreed.
“The flower should be open later this afternoon, so if you could make your way over to the facility, that would be wonderful.”
“How long will it take?”
“That depends on you, Mr Sap,” the doctor pointed out.
At the facility, Mr Sap made his way down the corridor, only stopping momentarily at the babies who were still sleeping, except one, who was bawling while a nurse tried to clean up the bedside plant she must’ve knocked over and smashed.
“Mr Sap, we meet again,” Doctor Bloomfield cut in, leading Mr Sap away down another corridor.
“I have a lot on today, so I’ll just do what is required and leave.”
“Of course,” the doctor affirmed, stopping outside another door.
“What’s the common name for this plant?” Mr Sap inquired, with mild hesitation.
“Cuckoo flower.”
“Cuck-oo,” Mr Sap parroted as the door opened. Inside the room was windowless and artificially lit, with a large bulbous plant growing out of a sturdy pot. Numerous vines were spilling out onto the floor, and a large, half-opened purple flower was facing directly up towards the ceiling. “What do I need to do?” Mr Sap dithered, standing at the door.
“Sow your seed,” the doctor smiled, giving him a nudge. “I’ll be rooting for you.”
The door closed, and now alone in the room, the plant remained motionless as all plants do. “I don’t really…” Mr Sap began, but as he got closer, he suddenly became aware of a heady perfume filling his nostrils. Mr Sap stopped and twitched, sneezing violently several times.
Rubbing his eyes to gain clarity, Mr Sap became acutely aware of two creepers slithering across the floor like blind serpents, searching for him. Mr Sap took a step back, and the flower opened further, revealing a dusty haze in the centre, hiding something within. A strange pulse rippled through the otherworldly plant, causing the petals to fan up and down hypnotically.
Mr Sap stood entranced, watching as the hazy centre gradually morphed into a curvy outline that he recognised to be a female human body, with sinewy appendages, swaying from side to side. The creepers crisscrossed over themselves and out of the fog, a face slowly appeared on the head, smiling and twisting to the sound of an unheard beat. As the intoxicating scent filled the room, the plant took the form of a green goddess, dancing and cavorting, her eyes fixed, ensnaring Mr Sap in an unbreakable trance. Reaching out, her tendril-like arms wrapped themselves around his body, pulling him closer.
Mr Sap’s face spasmed into a dopey smile, causing him to drool uncontrollably while his clothes were removed by the tendrils with great dexterity. What followed was nothing more than several hours of cross-pollinating love-making between two species, plant and human, crossing the boundaries of nature, until the plant was satisfied and Mr Sap could take no more. The naked green lady told him to sleep by holding a single vine to her lips, and Mr Sap’s eyelids suddenly became very heavy.
“Mr Sap?” called a voice.
Mr Sap shuddered on the floor and opened his eyes, looking up at the doctor. “I’m cold.”
“Perhaps you should put your clothes back on,” the doctor suggested, helping him up.
Mr Sap staggered to his feet and noticed the plant withering and the petals dropping off. “Did I do that?” Mr Sap asked with a look of horror.
“Yes,” the doctor confirmed.
“I made love to a plant?” Mr Sap recoiled.
“You did very well, we were very impressed,” the doctor grinned, nodding towards a small camera in the corner of the room. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us,” he reassured him. “After all, we are all plant lovers here.”
Nine months passed by in the blink of an eye, and once again the Saps were called back to the facility. Walking down the corridor, they passed the creche now filled with toddlers, wide awake and playing with their toys. Mr Sap noticed one small boy with his arms folded, having a tantrum, while nursery workers tried to reason with him to remove a plant that was coiled around one of their coworkers.
“Hey!” Mr Sap found himself instinctively shouting out, banging on the glass, and all the children looked back with matching verdant green eyes.
“Come on, we don’t want to miss the birth,” Mrs Sap urged, grabbing his arm.
“You’re just in time,” Mr Bloomfield called out, ushering them into the room, where the plant had now reduced down to a velvety seedpod. The Saps tentatively came forward, trying to encourage what was inside to come out. Suddenly, there was an audible pop, and inside amongst the pith, was a baby girl, curled up and cozy. Picking her up, she shivered and started to cry until Mrs Sap pulled her close. “I can’t believe it’s all come to fruition,” Mrs Sap declared with tears in her eyes. “We have a beautiful baby daughter.”
“What should we call her?” Mr Sap asked, stroking the baby’s head.
“Blossom,” Mrs Sap decided, and Mr Sap smiled, then glanced back at the remains of the plant, feeling uneasy.
In the corridor, Mr Sap paced up and down with Blossom in his arms, now wrapped in a blanket, while Mrs Sap received some final briefings from the doctor in his office. Passing the creche once more, Mr Sap noticed the plants had been removed, but the children were very unhappy, crying and throwing their toys around, while one boy remained focused on something outside through the narrow-slit window. Looking through, Mr Sap could see the domed building was now cracked, and a huge arching stem with barbed spikes was protruding out and extending towards the creche while other forms of formidable plant-life began to erupt from within.
“Stop that!” Mr Sap called out again, but the boy took no notice. Mr Sap felt a wriggle in his arms, and looking down, his daughter slowly opened her eyes for the first time. Looking up at him, they were glowing a bright leafy green.
- Botanical Babies - June 1, 2026
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