The Mighty Dead

What would it be like to live in a world which has conquered the near planets but abolished all literature? Bill Gault gives us a look at a world like this—in a not too distant future which finds all our pressure groups united to rule the roost.
On its surface the choice was an easy one—Doak Parker's career in Washington against a highly suspect country girl he had just met.
Doak Parker was thinking of June, when the light flashed. He was thinking of the two months' campaign and the very probable probability of his knocking her off this week-end. It was going to be a conquest to rank among his best. It was going to be....
The buzzer buzzed, the light flashed and the image of Ryder appeared on his small desk-screen. Ryder said, Come in, Doak. A little job for the week-end.
No , Doak thought, no, no, no! Not this week-end. Not this particular triumphant looming week-end. No! He said, Be right there, Chief.
Ryder was sitting behind his desk when Doak entered. Ryder was a man of about sixty, with a lined, weary face and a straggling mustache. He nodded at the chair across the desk from him.
Ryder depressed a button on his desk and the screen beyond him began to glow. Ryder said, An electronic transcript of a phone call I received this morning from former Senator Elmer Arnold. You know who he is, I guess, Doak.
Author of the Arnold Law? Doak smiled. Who doesn't?
Then the image of former Senator Arnold came on the screen. He didn't look any more than a hundred and ten years old, a withered and thin lipped man with a complexion like ashes. He began to talk.
Ryder, I guess you know I'm no scatterbrain and I guess you know I'm not one to cry wolf—but there's something damned funny going on in the old Fisher place on the Range Road. You better send a man down here, and I mean quick. You have him contact me.
The image faded, the rasping voice ceased. Doak sighed and looked at his nails.
Senile, you're thinking? Ryder said quietly.