Albalablanch 2

As a universe, Albalablanch is the most laughable, insignificant, pointless universe ever made. Not that there was ever any other universe, mind you. The point of a universe, what we might call its claim to glory, is to be unique. As such, Albalablanch is no exception. It is unique, and alone, in the vast desert of nothingness that surrounds it. True, its size is considerably smaller than the size of a universe that would be made of, say, an estimated ten exponential eighty tiny tiny balls which would all gravitate around each other at a distance between ten thousand and one exponential one billion times their size. Such an absurb universe would surpass in size Albalablanch by a factor so great as to be meaningless. But, come to it, if all the inexplicable space between the tiny balls was collapsed, it is not beyond imagination -it could even be within algebraic laws- that it fit into a tower fourty kilometres wide by twenty kilometres high.

Let's thus consider Albalablanch as the compacted version of a universe of tiny balls - this, of course, purely for ease of understanding. In any case, Albalablanch remains what it is : a universe unique in space and time as only a universe can be, and as such, incomparable. The question remains as to how such an object can be surrounded by a desert. More to the point, how come such a solipsist entity can be buried under the level of anything up to a quarter of its height. This is a very good question indeed, so interesting and difficult a question that, to this day, asking it in Albalablanch remains the only offence which will grant you the death penalty.

Albalablanch 1

As a tower, Albalablanch is something of a monstruousity, an architectural marvel and a maintenance nightmare. Its sheer size would offer ample space for its population on one level only. Yet, Albalablanch has a recorded seventy of them, spread over a height of some twenty kilometres.

It would be wrong to infer that each level is separated from the one above by approximately 330 meters. The average height is of little significance here. While some levels, particularly the middle ones, can have up to three kilometres of sky, good-sized hills and deep lakes as well as meteorological phenomenons, other levels, specially the lower ones, form a mere system of caves, some so low that the population living there has to stoop. An ideal place for a prison, would you think, and you couldn't be more wrong. For reasons specific to Albalablanch the prison has been set up on the highest level, with its innumerable trapholes and its open roof.

But enough on this topic. Everything in good time. We will come back on the social configuration of the tower. This fascinating subject will unveil as we proceed with our story. As for now, let's stick to figures : twenty kilometres high, seventy levels (more than half of which underground for the tower only rises fifteen kilometres above the desert). Its walls are so thick that they shelter their own indigenous population - a population with a bad reputation, not so much because it lives in the margins (Albalablanch has many different margins which are a constant threat to the cohesion of the middle class) than because it is the only one with - limited - access to the truth.

The maintenance of its walls should really be everybody's concern. But for most of us, sharing a responsibility means that this responsibility is not ours. As a result, after millennia of existence, the walls of Albalablanch have grown into a weird compound prone to geological accidents and reshuffling, helped by the fact that, fifteen kilometres above ground, the climatic conditions are widely different from the warm stable environment of its lowest caves. The stress induced on the fabric of the tower is considerable. It releases here and there in thundering cracks, causing in the population closest to its walls epidemics of deafness. This in turn is often used as an excuse by the person who doesn't want to entertain social conversation : a couple of shouted "WHAT ?" and a pointing at one's ears stop any inquiry. "He was probably thunderstruck", people whisper, shrugging. And they leave you in peace : being thunderstruck means that you live close to the walls and that, therefore, you will most likely turn out to be some sort of weirdo.

Albalablanch 0

Albalablanch is a good fourty kilometers wide. It is a respectable size for a town. It is a monstruous size for a tower. It is a tad narrow for a universe.

As a town it has everything one would expect: prisons, police stations, morgues, cemeteries, crematoriums, plus all the industries gravitating around the business of death, violent or not (non violent deaths have been recently reported on the increase): weapon factories and shops, fast transportation, cigarettes, alcohol, a few drugs, hospitals. Unexpectedly, given its particular shape and situation, Albalablanch also has the kind of old, heavy infrastructure which takes a toll in the tens of thousands every time it collapses - and it collapses every other week.

Of course it has all the amenities to produce and care for death's main ingredient: life. Hence a substantial human population -around thirty million as I write-, profusion of cattle on the top levels, fields in the lower levels (the natural weather being so unreliable), schools and offices (whose main purpose is to provide  favourable ground for mating), maternity wards and nurseries.

Albalablanch even has these little facilities humans are so fond of: clothes shops, food shops, houses and flats, hotels (entirely dedicated to business or sex and at their most succcessfull when combining both), places where humans can indulge in their bodily needs: bars and museums to keep the brain busy, sex-shops and prostitutes for a quick and easy fuck, millions of toilets to satisfy the pleasure of emptying their bowels, Churches, Mosques, Temples and Synagogues for the few remaining souls.

In short, Albalablanch could be described as a vibrant city by an outside observer, were there an outside left to observe it from.