Enders by Lissa Price

freckles.
    Hyden glanced in her direction, then quickly looked away. I smiled at him.
    “Bet you’d like to scan her,” I said.
    His lips barely hinted at a smile. “I think we need to go to the second floor,” he said as he pointed to the stairs.
    The building was ancient, and neither of us would have trusted the z-lift. Some of the newer buildings were zaprophyte-powered, a complex system of energy created by plants feeding on fungi. The spore dust was a temporary resource for that, and some enterprising people were turning lemons into lemonade that way. But it was controversial, as some felt it released dangerous spore contamination into the air. And it wouldn’t last.
    On the second floor, after waiting in line, we finally spoke to an Ender at a counter. She had an old airscreen in between us. The images it produced were faded, scratchy, and broken, a lot like the Ender herself.
    “Ray Woodland, did you say?” she asked in a croaky voice.
    “Yes, he’s my father.”
    “But he’s a Middle, right?” she said.
    I nodded.
    “Then, honey, he’s gone,” she said in a tired voice, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d had to tell a teenager that a parent was dead. “They’re all gone.”
    “Not all of them,” I said. “I personally know one. And what about the holo-stars and politicians?”
    “They’re in a special category,” she said, as if I were a child. “But everyone else …” She shook her head.
    “Can you just look him up, please?” Hyden said.
    Her lips pressed together and she started moving her fingers across the airscreen. It was slow to respond and she had to retry several times.
    Finally, she came up with a result. She pushed an icon that then reversed the text so I could read it.
    RAY WOODLAND,
age 55, deceased
.
    It had his address and occupation, “inventor.”
    “I don’t … Couldn’t there be some mistake?” I said. “There were so many Middles at the same time, there were bound to be some errors.”
    Hyden looked at me. His expression—on Jeremy’s face—was so sad.
    The Ender tilted her head. “I feel for you, honey. I really do. You Starters need closure. I’m going to show you something I really shouldn’t. But—”
    She made a motion like she was zipping her lips shut.
    “Okay?” she asked.
    “Sure,” I said.
    I looked at Hyden. We were both confused.
    “Just wait over by that door,” she said.
    She motioned to a door a few feet away. We did as we were told, and a moment later, she opened the door and let us in.
    She put her finger to her lips. We nodded and followed hersilently to a back room that was filled with Enders sitting at desks. It was an eerie sight, with no light other than what was emitted from their airscreens. All the screens showed corpses.
    “This is where they do all the data entry for the deceased, mostly from treatment facilities,” the clerk said.
    She leaned over the shoulder of one of the workers and whispered to her.
    The worker typed in the air my father’s name, birthdate, and address, and an image came up. A man, lying on a cot. A tented sign balanced on his chest showed his name and a long number. His face was white and frozen.
    “Ray Woodland,” the clerk read from the screen.
    My father. Dead. The hope I’d felt spring inside me vanished. It was as if he’d died all over again.
    I put my hand to my mouth. Tears flowed down my cheeks. Hyden put his arm around my shoulders. The Ender clerk looked at me and nodded.
    “It’s better to have closure, dear,” she said. “Now you know.”
    The words stung like acid.
    “Let’s go,” Hyden said quietly.

    As we made our way to the stairs, Hyden kept his arm around me.
    Inside the stairwell, he stopped and faced me. “You okay?”
    “It’s my fault.”
    He handed me a tissue. “No, it’s not.”
    “I wanted to find out.” I wiped my eyes and struggled to get the words out. “I just didn’t think this would be the answer.”
    “I know.” He wrapped me in a