Utopia.

A word my ancestors could have never dreamed to hope. Their world was dying, 10 billions people spread across Terra's lands and seas. Green jungle replaced by concrete jungle, except for a few places, owned by elite members and governments, who stayed isolated from the over-populated areas.

Eventually, the lottery-run genocide. Lottery-run for those between 18 and 50. Below and above that age, only the fit were deemed to live, the rest were remorselessly euthanazed. For the good of humanity, they said.

A world hopeless and doomed to near-complete extermination.

Yet, here are we, me and my husband, and 50 billion people. My husband Jay and I were born, however, on Marnamai, the cradle of humanity and most populated planet of the Empire, with 5 billions citizens, first colonized in 2112. How far we've got, it will always amaze me. They did say that from the deepest depth of darkness, light will only spring brighter, and so will hope.

**********************

Jay and I arrived at the origin of the emergency call that the Department of Protection of Fauna and Flora received earlier. A couple was standing near a tree, gazing down at a crevice in its root, their faces concerned.

Upon hearing our approach, they ran to us:

"Please, can you do something?"

"Most certainly. Show us where is the emergency," Jay comforted the couple.

The wife took us back to the tree, and pointed down the crevice:

"We discovered this nest about five days ago, and came back every day to let our children experience and see the growth of the babies; but today, we came alone, and..." She burst into tears, while pointing at the said bird nest.

"We'll take care of this, ma'am, do not worry", I told her kindly, while Jay approached the crevice.

She nodded sadly, and walked back to her husband, who hugged her comfortingly, taking her away to let us work in peace.

"Oh, poor little guys," my own husband whispered softly upon seeing the broken nest.

Three little baby passenger pigeons laid in the ripped cocoon of twigs and feathers; while two of them looked only to be in shock, the third had a broken wing, and moved barely. Jay took the baby as delicately and softly he could, and put it down on the warm grass to examine it better.

"It's not too bad, I think we can operate it right here; it will save it some additional shock", Jay concluded with the assurance of a lifetime doctor.

"Looks like the work of a badger, doesn't it?" I noticed, examining the damage to the nest.

"Most certainly," Jay distractingly agreed, opening his medical emergency kit.

"I'll send a call to the guys back home, to find and displace the badger," I took my phone out. "We have enough problems keeping this specie alive..."

After giving the order, and while my husband was busy disinfecting the wing wound, I took my own bag, placing it on the ground. The poor babies looked famished, and the shock didn't helped; plus, who knew when the mother would come with food. So I opened my bag, and took a box of fresh fruits, renewed everyday for such circumstances, and sprinkled a good fistful around the babies. Finally, I took advantage of the fact they already had their beaks opened, to gently place one small red berry in it. They immediately gulped it down, and, this time, turned toward my approximate position, their small beaks waving, requesting more food. To which I happily obliged.

As my babies seemingly fell to sleep, their hunger finally extinguished, I smiled with relief, as I also noticed Jay had success repairing the broken wing.

Wild Nature was a cruel world, a world of Might Makes Right; and humanity started to follow that philosophy when Terra began to fall into chaos, almost 500 years ago. But when the first Terrians colonized Marnamai, that cruel philosophy was happily left behind. Humans took with them compassion, and love for all things; they knew what war and hate created, they knew how their conflicts between brothers and sisters destroyed forever Terra's living organism. And they made it their duties to never repeat that again on Marnamai, and on all the following planets they colonized. Cities, such as the one I was born in, the one I could see across the valleys separating us, were build to host comfortably and luxuriously as much people it could, while at the same time protect nature. Each cities could shelter in luxurious homes 800 000 humans, grow 100 square kilometers of vertical farming, and self-sustain itself through solar cell technology, and much more technical prowess than I cared to remember (but which took away all need for drilling, mining, etc). With this innovative system, 5 billions humans took, even with the agriculture section, 5% of Marnamai's habitable surface. The rest were all virgin forests, lakes, rivers, oceans, and prairies. Nature was left untouched and unharmed, and the only time we interfered was to save and care the weak fauna and flora, to keep all from extinction.

Nevermore humanity took 60% of a planet's surface, nevermore did it exhaust its resources. Humans lived happily and peacefully with each other, now free of money, food, and shelter problems. They could live all their dreams, accomplish all desires. So sad it took that long to actually happen; three quarters of the 22th century had to pass before such peace reached across the Milky Way.

Small, almost inaudible cries brought me back from my thoughts, and I looked with pride and love as Jay placed back the now-mended baby pigeon with its brother and sister. Just before it went to sleep, I feed it with those juicy red fruits, and we then backed away gently as we heard a much louder cry from the sky. We made sure we were at a non-suspicious distance from the tree, as we didn't wished to alert the protective instinct of the mother passenger pigeon, whom we suspected made that cry.

Indeed, she landed in a flap of wings near her nest, and approached it proudly, carrying some worms in her beak. Upon seeing her babies asleep, she put down her catch amongst my scattered red berries, until such time that they woke up. The broken state of her nest worried her, but she quickly set to repair it.

Jay and I looked at each other with love and pride, as we enjoyed the sweet display of motherly affection. We didn't bragged about saving the babies: it was our duty, such events always happened, and we always took care of our home.

As we walked back to our city, gazing at the distant Sun, on this once lifeless and red planet, we couldn't help but wishing our ancestors could have shared that dream of peace earlier.

The dream of Utopia.