"So it wasn't a bit like I'd expected," he concluded. "No trial, no publicity. I've never seen Leffingwell again, nor Manschoff. Nobody questioned me. By the time I recovered consciousness, I was here in prison. Buried alive."
Richard Wade spoke slowly, for the first time. "You're lucky. They might have shot you down on the spot."
"That's just what bothers me," Harry told him. "Why didn't they kill me? Why lock me up incommunicado this way? There aren't many prisons left these days, with food and space at such a premium."
"There are no prisons left at all—officially," Wade said. "Just as there are no longer any cemeteries. But important people are still given private burials and their remains secretly preserved. All a matter of influence."
"I've no influence. I'm not important. Wouldn't you think they'd consider it risky to keep me alive, under the circumstances? If there'd ever be an investigation—"
"Who would investigate? Not the government, surely."
"But suppose there's a political turnover. Suppose Congress want to make capital of the situation?"
"There is no Congress."
Harry gasped. "No Congress?"
"As of last month. It was dissolved. Henceforth we are governed by the Cabinet, with authority delegated to department heads."