S. Bodeen - The Compound

The tomatoes, lettuce, and red bell peppers were close to another harvest. I started some more seedlings by pushing seeds into small squares of sponges. One row of grow light bulbs flickered.

I held my breath.

They came back on. Stayed on.

I breathed again, relieved.

After nine months in the Compound, some bulbs had gone out. I replaced them, but the light didn’t look the same. After checking the storage room with the supply of grow light bulbs, I found a nasty surprise. More than three-fourths of them were normal fluorescent bulbs, no good for growing anything.

Depending on how long the grow bulbs lasted, our supply of vegetables would run out around the time I turned eighteen, if not sooner. So I had good reason to panic every time those bulbs flickered. Especially when I took into account the rest of the food situation. And that was something I tried not to think about.

I FINISHED MY WORK IN THE HYDROPONICS AND HEADED TO the computer room to do some schoolwork. We had the best computers, of course, at least they were the best available when we entered the Compound. Dad had started his company on his own, building computers, and he still created prototypes for new ones, each better than the last. I could only imagine how many millions of dollars the latest model would have made. It was weird sometimes to think about money when there was no need for it in the Compound. I guess I’d always been tuned into it, though, knowing we’d had so much.

Our computers were loaded with educational software, all programmed to work at the user’s pace with an infinite level of endless subjects. Although I had just turned fifteen, I was on my first year of college studies. This wonder boy was gifted in math and sciences, big shocker there. Plus I still studied Mandarin.

Lexie was on her first year of college, studying literature and Greek. I’m pretty sure she would have been more of a vapid socialite in the old world. In the Compound she studied, but only the subjects she liked. She refused to do any math or sciences and Dad let her get away with it. Perhaps he thought it was a waste of time nurturing the other areas. Most likely Lexie just got her way with him, once again.

I spread my books out on the table, wondering what it would actually be like to have to study in a room full of people, to only have a small allotted space. Not the entire room, as I did. I never had to tell anyone to pipe down so I could concentrate, that’s for sure.

A word problem in calculus was totally confusing me, so I finally gave in and decided to ask Dad for some help. His office was set apart from the rest of the rooms down a private alcove, and always locked up tight whenever he wasn’t there. I’d never been inside.

I reached his office and knocked on the door. It clicked open. He must not have shut it tight. He’d likely just stepped out for a moment, knowing none of us were usually around his office that time of day.

“Dad?”

No answer.

I pushed the door a bit with my foot. I took another glance down the hallway to make sure it was empty, and then stepped onto the threshold. The smell of pipe tobacco hit my nose as my quick gaze absorbed the décor.

A rush of déjà vu flooded me as I realized the office was identical to Dad’s office in our house in Seattle. A thicker coating of dust on the stack of old National Geographies was the only thing that was different. A huge chair on wheels still sat behind the richly polished paneled desk. Three separate flat-monitor computers, a wall of clocks with several time zones, and his favorite Seattle Seahawks football phone. Everything almost nearly the same. Except for the padlocked door on the far side of the room.

“Eli?”

I’m sure I looked guilty when I twisted toward him, but I tried to be casual. “Dad, hey, I need to ask you something.”

“What the hell are you doing in here?” His frown was fierce.

My words stammered out. “I—I wasn’t doing anything.”

He looked beyond me, into the office, like he was making sure everything was still there. “You’re not allowed in here.”

I took a breath, and then stated in an even tone, “I wasn’t in your office, Dad. I just need your help.” I held up a notebook, revealing scribbled equations.

“Oh.” He waited for me to pass by him, into the hallway. Better than anyone else, Dad understood the need for me to not be touched. Not that he’d ever really been the touchy-feely type, anyway. He shut the office door behind him, tight this time. “Let’s take a look.”

Back in the computer lab I explained how I’d tried to solve the problem, unsuccessfully.

Dad rubbed his chin and squinted at my writing. “Did you convert it to math?”

I held out my notes. “That’s what I’m trying to do. The quantities aren’t fixed.”

“Did you name them by a variable?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t get that far.”

“Let’s try a similar one.” He jotted down a complicated equation. His mind seemed to work so fast that his fingers couldn’t keep up.

I tried to solve for x , but couldn’t figure it out. Dad being so close made me nervous, not able to think straight.

“Come on, Eli. Think.” He solved it as I watched. “You can do this.”

The answer dawned on me and I smacked my forehead with one hand. “Stupid. That was one of my first ideas but it didn’t seem right.”

Dad shrugged. “You should have gone with your first instinct. It’s usually right.” He stood. “I need to get back to work.”

AFTER DAD LEFT, I HAD TROUBLE CONCENTRATING ON THE rest of my studies. Why was Dad so freaked about me being in his office? Before we came here, if he was working on new software or a new computer design, he was doubly cautious about security. But why would he be paranoid down here? Who was I going to tell? And what was behind that locked door? Other than the room behind the yellow door, I’d toured the entire Compound so many times I knew every room. Or so I thought.

At first I’d assumed our close proximity over the past six years would have made me closer to Dad. He no longer had the huge demands of his company. In the old world, our time with him had been scheduled, as if it were an appointment written down in some shiny black book. We had dinner as a family at six every night, spent an hour or so in the library or den, maybe played a game or something, then at nine he bid us adieu and headed off to his study.

Nothing had really changed that much. He still did exactly what he wanted and none of us questioned him. Maybe the hardest fact to swallow was that, despite his being my father, I didn’t know any more about the man than the general public might find out by reading his biography.

Rex Yanakakis, adopted as a baby, then orphaned when he was nineteen, used his genius mind and inheritance to get a degree in computer science at MIT, and then start his own company. Not wanting to forget his roots, he supported the orphanage he’d been sent to as a baby. They ended up naming it for him. Quite a slick move, I’d say. It basically guaranteed his continued generous support.

At age twenty-seven, when his company was already on its way to the top, he saw my mom play in the Seattle Symphony and didn’t stop sending her white roses by the dozen until she agreed to see him. I can imagine the situation was attractive to her. To be raised with hardly any money, then grow up to be courted by one of the richest, most powerful men in the world? I’m sure the thought of a life with that kind of security had to hold a huge appeal.