The news roared through the city like Superman out to crush a Playstation baddie. Cell phones flipped open everywhere, shouting their confusion, outrage, and apologies for being late to the world. Palms, Blackberries, and notebooks pounded the Internet, while their batteries lasted, with frustration and demands for explanations.

Rush hour traffic in the Metropolis had been a one-way ticket to Hell for as long as anyone could remember. But on this Monday morning, the jams surpassed the maddest imaginings of the darkest pessimist. Lines of stopped vehicles stretched deep into the suburbs. Freeway ramps 100 miles from the city center were strewn with broken glass from the cars that had sped onto them, expecting the usual clear sailing, only to ram into the backs of the queues that had formed. Many a half-asleep creature of commuter habit was jolted awake, not by the morning's Starbucks, but by the frantic squeal of brakes and the fury of raised voices, yelling at each other and, above all, at the lack of motion.

Conjectures became rumors, and rumors became urban legends that cascaded across the wireless networks. The stories soon coalesced, however, around one observable fact: over the weekend, the speed limits on the freeways had all been reduced by 10 mph, with corresponding reductions on the major side roads.

And it was soon made clear that the cops were dead serious about enforcing the new limits. Early risers who had dashed down the then still-empty roads, secure in their time-honored conviction that "65" meant "85", found themselves pulled over by the phalanxes of patrol cars that suddenly materialized all along the highways. Slowdowns from the pullovers, and from the curious gawking at the spectacle the pullovers provided, soon became chokepoints that brought all traffic to a standstill.

Nor did the problem cease as the day progressed. The congestion was so extreme, it would likely have taken most of the day to clear up even at the best of times. But at the slightest indication that traffic was starting to flow again, the patrol cars reappeared, many of them unmarked, enforcing the newly-posted speed limits with an unprecedented rigor, and snarling the roads once more.

Millions of phone conversations, email exchanges, and instant message popup boxes carried variations on the same theme:

"Man, you wouldn't believe the traffic snafu in this place. You sure as hell don't want to be here today."

"What?? You too?!?"

Indeed. The roadways of America had all been subjected to the new speed rules, and had congealed, clotted, and set hard, like dried blood. The resulting clamor was threatening to erupt into full-scale panic, when a message, direct from the White House, appeared simultaneously on broadcast and satellite, radio, TV and computer video.

"My fellow Americans. You know that we are engaged in a War on Terror, against a ruthless enemy that hates all we stand for, and will go to any lengths to harm our country and its innocent people.

"In the past 72 hours, we have received much credible information, telling us that a major attack is imminent. An attack to be delivered, by one or more car bombs, against a significant target in a city. We know how the attack will be made, and we know that it will be soon, but we do not know the target, or targets.

"Therefore, last Saturday, I ordered all the uniformed services of our great nation, to execute strict controls on all vehicular traffic, and to keep those controls in place until we are certain that the threat has passed. Our armed forces personnel stationed in America, and our police forces throughout this our homeland, have moved with great speed and skill to put the necessary precautions in place.

"I regret the unfortunate effects on our nation's freedom of movement that these measures have had. I assure you that these measures are necessary for our safety and security. The safety and security that I have pledged, above all things, to provide to the American people. I have every reason to believe that we will soon defeat our enemies, and that, therefore, the inconveniences we now endure will be temporary.

"My fellow Americans, a speeding car is a law-breaking car. Its occupants may be fleeing from justice, or rushing to wreak an unspeakable horror upon us. We all know that speed kills. If, by my actions these last three days, I have spared a parent, a spouse, a child from the grievous loss of a loved one at the hands of a law-breaker, I feel that I will have truly done a service to my country.

"I urge you to be strong with us through this time. I ask you to respect the brave men and women who are working to keep us safe, and follow their instructions and directions promptly and graciously. Tell them at once if you see anyone, or anything, suspicious. Adapt with courage and conviction to those situations that we all need to endure during this challenge to our nation's peace and prosperity.

"So that our great nation can thumb its nose at those who hate us, can show to the world that we cannot be stopped.

"Thank you."

The message burst the bubble of panic, and left in its wake a nearly-universal sense of spent resignation. Here and there, a chat room chanted "Hooah!!", a blog erupted "Impeach the bastard!". But most people, assured that the world as they knew it was not coming to an end today, either, and having had quite enough drama and excitement for a month of Mondays, contented themselves with simply trying, somehow, to get themselves home.

Over the next few days, the chaos of "Gridlock Monday", as it soon came to be called, was gradually replaced by order and a semblance of movement. News media were on nearly constantly, providing updates on the traffic situation, snippets of information about the suspected plots that were the reason for the traffic situation, and a barrage of advice on how to do everything on your schedule while keeping your car off the road as much as possible.

Meanwhile, the "chase and apprehend" strategy of the police had changed to a preventive "Escort" strategy. Teams of patrol cars would leave from selected depots at approximately one-minute intervals, and proceed down the major roads at or below the posted speed limits. The commuting vehicles followed dutifully behind the "Escorts" in long ordered rows. Anyone who tried to pass them, or tried to duck around them using the side streets, was quickly hunted down and jailed. The procedure restored some flow to the roads, though the average commute now took at least twice as long as it had before Gridlock Monday.

About all this, the Internet was strangely silent, even after The Daily Kos published an article pointedly wondering where all these new cops, in their brand spanking new cop cars, had come from so all of a sudden.

And then, somebody noticed that the speeds being maintained by the "Escorts" were slowly going down. The week after Gridlock Monday, speeds topped out at 55 mph. Now, a month later, 40 mph was tops. Commuting times were becoming impossibly long, and fuel costs increasingly burdensome. Even before gasoline prices suddenly flared to more than $5 a gallon - which was blamed on the deteriorating situation in the Middle East, terrorist threats to Russian oilfields, and Venezuela's escalating hostility to America.

Naturally, there was an outcry. After all, road-based public transportation was of no more use than private cars under the "Escort" system, and non-road-based systems like commuter rail, in the relatively few communities that had them, were breaking down catastrophically under the pressure. Strangely, there were few howls of rage that made it to the news, or even the blogosphere. Most of the voices were those of professional pundits debating the effects of the transportation crisis on national gross domestic product, and the impact of the extra fuel being burned on global warming and its potential impacts on national GDP.

Then, there was another startling White House announcement. Government agencies, effective immediately, would buy and build housing for its employees that was adjacent to its offices. The employees, they said, would flock to it rather than go broke and crazy trying to drive a car anywhere. Private businesses were urged to follow suit.

This they did, with alacrity. Large businesses competed with each other and with the Government for prime sites. Smaller businesses were urged to buy space in the developments of the larger operations, or to pool their resources with other neighboring small businesses to build projects of their own. High-rise dormitories sprang up practically overnight, and were fully subscribed as fast as they could be built. Whole neighborhoods were razed to make room for the new construction, if their buildings could not be converted to dormitories quickly or cheaply enough.

A blogger posted an email from a friend, who had resided in an old Italian neighborhood of The Metropolis - one that had been "requisitioned" for a Government high-rise complex.

"This must be quick, they haven't seen my Blackberry yet, when they do it'll be gone. They came last night with troopers, dogs, and buses, to clear my block. They rousted us out of bed at two in the morning, and threw us onto the buses with nothing more than what we could grab on the way out. Some of us are wearing sheets. Marco refused to go; the last time I saw him he was being dragged off by the dogs. I'm afraid they may have shot him. I think we're in Pennsylvania now. There's a rumor we're being sent to Alabama to pick cotton, but no one really knows anything, and the guard snarls worse than his dog. Pray for us."

The email, and the hosting blog, vanished within hours of its posting. The blogger whose site was wiped lamented to a friend, "My account was cancelled. They said I violated their Terms of Service. Still trying to figure out what I did." The next day, he too had disappeared. The blogosphere soon had nothing on it but product endorsements and incessant gossip about Britney Spears, Flavor Flav, and the current season of American Idol ...

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It is 0600 on the third anniversary of Patriot Monday, a gray, gloomy November morning. The freeways of the Metropolis are silent and empty, except for the occasional military transport, government sedan, or luxury limousine carrying a high-level corporate executive to some appointment or other from his town-sized compound an hour's drive away.

In each of the 350 cubicles of the shoddily-constructed high rise, the same scene is being enacted, coordinated by a voice and an image from a monitor embedded in the wall of each cell. A monitor that cannot be muted, cannot be turned off ...

"OK, stand straight, arms outstretched to your sides. Now, on my count, turn and touch your toes, left hand to right toe, then right hand to left toe. Ten reps. Ready? One ... up! Two ... up ... Smith, you didn't touch those toes. Any more demerits, and you'll be working through dinner as well as lunch. Now get your act together and stop embarrassing the unit. We're already late. Ten reps, again, everybody, thanks to Smith. One ... up! Two ... up! ..."

         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *

... the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country.

- Hermann Goering

   - O Ceallaigh

Copyright © 2006 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.

All personal opinions are mine as a private citizen.