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Turnabout 

(Røtter) 

By Ingar Knudtsen

Translated from the Norwegian by Joe F. Randolph
Translation modified by Bjørn Tore Sund 

The people back home thought he was a fool. He understood that much. The quick look between Helga and cousin Jonas, uncle Stein's grin... A fool who had lost his last few dollars, the entire sum for damages from the insurance policy's face value, and Marianne after that, and he was left with the responsibility for Little Marianne. 
Cato Thorsen straightened up and looked out over the greenhouses, beyond them and up at the Amenthes range of hills. His hand automatically wanted to go up to his forehead to wipe the sweat away and somehow brush the stiff blond hair out of his eyes. He could not do that through the oxygen mask. Instead, he turned down the thermostat on the suit's heating element a few degrees. 
He had been on Mars for three years, and had settled down in Moeris Lacus, well placed in Mars's equatorial farm belt, as a farmer. What it meant was that he had started out the first year as a prospector, but gave it up for Little Marianne's sake. In addition, his bad foot bothered him more as a prospector than as a farmer. At fifty-six he hoped to have enough money put away to be able to go back to Earth and still have a little left over. At the agricultural secretary's last inspection his small farm had been praised, and he had been promised preferred orders from the government. Which meant both a higher and more certain income. 
We need people like you, Thorsen, inspector Jamies had said. Honest, loyal working people who will help us to colonize this stubborn planet.  
Cato understood quite well what the inspector meant by loyal. It had been a personal success story for him, everything considered, to go through the red tape and rigmarole in colonial administration on Earth. 
Mars, cousin Jonas had laughed derisively. You're out of your mind. Besides, you'll never make it past the tests. That leg of yours...  
I have made it through the tests, Cato had replied. They didn't give a damn about my leg. They were much more interested in my political ideas. And for once he had had the satisfaction of seeing Jonas Thorsen's arrogant expression twist up into a stupid-looking gape. 

Daddy! Daddy, can you hear me?  
Cato pushed the transmit button in his helmet. 
Yes, Marianne, what is it?  
There's a TV call for you, Daddy. From Gagaringrad. Somebody wants to talk to you!  
I'm on my way.  
Cato left his tools and went over to the main building, a low-rise standard B house. 
Inside the air lock he took his helmet off and hung his suit up. 
Marianne came to him when he entered and he hugged her in his arms. 
The man says it's important, Daddy.  
I'm coming, I'm coming already.  
Cato smiled down at Marianne's flushed face. At the same time he felt a stab of bad conscience. Life on the farm was so uneventful that a TV call was a big event. Especially when it came from the capital. 

The man on the screen was a stranger to him. A pale, narrow face with dark eyes. 
Mr. Cato Thorsen, I believe?  
Correct. And who are you?  
The man made an impatient motion with his hand. 
Secretary Urisow of SIS.  
Cato just barely managed to hold back a surprised whistle. The security service! But what.... 
I'll make it short and sweet, Urisow continued. We've checked your military record and found out that you used to be in the Police Military Corps back on Earth and were discharged because of a service-related injury. Your record's perfect and additional remarks label you absolutely trustworthy--  
Thank you, Cato cut him off abruptly. But what has all this to do with me? It's been a good five years since I was in the corps.  
I was coming to that. But first a question. Have you ever heard of MSO?  
The Mars Space Organization? The rebel-rousing organization? Obviously I have.  
Do you know what it stands for?  
Having Mars secede from the mother planet, and a revolutionary economic and political program, but what on--  
We believe that MSO agents are active among the farmers in Moeris Lacus and Nephentes right now according to what some indications. And they have also been having a certain success from what we can gather.  
But why tell me this? I can't possibly undertake political work again. I still have a hard time with my leg, and besides, I have a daughter to take care of.  
Aren't you still loyal? His voice turned brusque. Don't you want to make a contribution to Earth's cause?  
Cato turned red. 
Sure, of course. I'm willing to do anything within reason to fight against a bunch of troublemakers here on the planet. I just have certain things to consider, and those are the things I'm referring to.  
Well. The narrow face with dark eyes smiled again. We ask nothing more than to keep your eyes open. And if you come across something important, don't forget that we reward our helpers for their services. The narrow face paused expressively before continuing. Take down this number.  
A seven-digit number flashed on the screen. 
Did you get it?  
Cato nodded. Right, he said. I've got it.  

It was a rather irritated Cato that ate supper. Outside, a fire-red sun was setting among the scant crater rims in Syrtis Major and making the Martian sand look like blood. The sky was also redder than usual, a salmon-red hue which indicated that there was dust in the atmosphere. It could mean that a dust storm was on the way. Cato doubted it since it was not yet the right time of year for them. 
The tried to rid himself of the uneasy feeling left by his chat with the SIS man. It was not that he did not want to do something, and the money was perhaps more enticing than he wished to admit, but for his part he did not know what he could do. He had hardly had anything to do with his two or three nearest neighbors since he had come there, and he could not imagine either Elin and Ezra Greshko or the Gomez family having any connection with the MSO. Nor the woman hermit Lydia Erness, for sure. Cato had intentionally cut himself off from the others, and saw no need to change the situation now. The only daily contact he and Marianne had with the outside world was with the Carter City school center, and it was necessary primarily for Marianne. 
Thoughtful, he began clearing the table. The food on Marianne's plate was almost untouched. Cato looked at her, surprised. He had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he had not noticed that she was quiet and pale. 
What's wrong, Marianne? You've hardly eaten a thing.  
I have a stomachache, Daddy, she answered evasively. 
Feeling slightly guilty, Cato helped her onto the sofa and put a blanket over her. He sat down to hold her in his arms. It was a big responsibility to take a child to Mars, but he was so fond of her and could not bear the thought of leaving her with strangers at an orphanage on Earth. He had come to Mars, he had not sought out any active contact with neighbors so that she could have other children to play with... Everything considered, it had always been he who made the decisions for both of them, on his own terms. 
He discreetly squeezed her hands. 
Does it still hurt? he asked. 
She did not answer but just nodded. Her hands were cold and she was running a slight fever. 
I have to go and do my chores in the greenhouse, he said. But I'll be back soon. He put an intercomunit over on the sofa. Give me a call if something comes up, but try to get some sleep and it just might pass. Are you sick to your stomach?  
No.  
Ok, but if you have to throw up, just do it on the floor. I'll clean up when I get back.  

The sun had set and the stars shone down on the desolate plains and craters while the dust which was blowing in from the northwest made them glitter and sparkle. Cato turned on the light in the greenhouses. Phobos was high in the sky, an oblong giant-sized rock in space, which, even though it was fully illuminated by the sun, hardly cast any shadow at all. 
Cato's relationship with this planet which he made his livelihood from was largely marked by indifference. Somewhat like his relationship to his Antarctic home. A place where you could go and make good money only to go elsewhere and spend it. His earnings might have been a good deal less than he had expected, but it was mostly his own fault for choosing to become a farmer rather than going on as a prospector. 
The Earth government found Mars's resources useful, they needed the planet as a way station to the asteroid belt and the moons of Jupiter. They had invested billions of dollars and had only recently begun to reap what they had sown. 
And right in the middle of it all MSO had appeared, originally a space-transport cooperative started by the Mars colonists with the intention of securing Mars its own share in the profits brought up out of the Martian land and out of the asteroid belt. 
Two years ago the organization had been outlawed after violating property that rightfully belonged to the colonial administration and repeatedly abusing the right to use natural resources... MSO had reacted by going underground and gradually changing its nature to become an organized center for all kinds of subversive activities, a rebel organization with declared revolutionary and anti-Earth goals. Anarchist used as an insult had no effect on them, they accepted the name and propagandized for what they saw as a positive meaning to the word. 
In spite of his being on Mars, Cato felt more like a spectator to what was going on. A person traveling through a land with problems that only concerned him indirectly, a tourist.... And that is probably why he was less than enthusiastic about getting involved in security service work, no matter how slightly. Cato Thorsen grew up in a big city on Earth and had been taught to mind his own business, except when he worked in the political corps but that was work . 
He finished the potatoes in greenhouse 9 and left. He closed the air lock behind him and checked to see that the green indicator light was on. With a slight hobble he trudged back to the main building. 

During the night Marianne got worse. She lay crouched on the bed with her knees up under he chin, weakly complaining with every breath. Her forehead glistened with sweat. 
Cato called the Gagaringrad medical center. 
Hello. Medical center.  
The young pimple-faced man at base headquarters grumpily looked at Cato on the TV screen. 
I'm calling from Moeris Lacus, District 121. It's about my daughter. She's sick. She has bad pains in her stomach and back--  
One moment and I'll connect you with the mobile unit, the TV operator interrupted. 
Cato waited a few seconds before a roly-poly man's face appeared on the screen. He introduced himself as Dr. Poul Girard. Cato began to explain the situation. 
It doesn't sound too serious, the doctor interrupted. You'd better keep us informed about her condition. I'll try to send a vehicle over there in a few days in case she doesn't get better. Dust clouds have been reported in the air between Hellas and Syrtis Major, so for the time being we've issued orders not to send any ambulances out in that direction. However, if you can bring her in yourself, of course do so, but at your own risk.  
But I'm afraid this is serious, doctor. She's really having a hard time. Can't you send an aircraft?  
And aircraft? The doctor's forehead wrinkled, and his tired voice turned brusque. They have been reserved for emergency cases.  
But this may -- Cato began with increasing irritation. 
-- not be what we consider an emergency case, Dr. Girard finished. There's an epidemic of intestinal flu in the Elysium district right now, which could well be what your child contracted. But, as I said, look after her and let us know if she gets any worse.  
Cato swallowed the rage building up in his throat he was dying to say something he knew he would later regret. He glared at the doctor for a fraction of a second before lowering his eyes. 
Yes indeed, he mumbled. You damned hardhead, he added after breaking the connection. 
An epidemic in Elysium. Like hell. Neither he nor Marianne had been breathing any other air than their own and eating their own food either stored for weeks and months or homegrown, for ages. So where could Marianne have picked up the infection? It was absurd. 

In the west the faint mist of dust in the salmon-red sky was the same. Higher up the color of the sky was turning violet, some thin white clouds passed across the face of the sun. 
Cato hurried through the outdoor work so that he could come back in and sit with Marianne, even though there was not very much he could do for her. She had not shown any signs of throwing up. Her fever was not all that high, but that did not mean much, as he had given her a couple of pain-relieving tablets, which at the same time brought the fever down. So now she was finally getting a little sleep, and Cato felt relieved about it even though he knew that the improvement induced by the tablets were false, and that she would be just as ill when the effects wore off. He wiped some beads of sweat off her brow. The love he felt for her made seeing her like this a heartbreaking experience. 

A dust cloud down in a small valley toward the Lowell chasms made Cato put his hand over his eyes. Reflections from the sun on the double plexiglass covering the greenhouse made it hard to see. It might be the people from the medical center... He rejected the thought. And now the vehicle had come close enough for him to recognize Lydia Erness's green and yellow desert car. 
Lydia Erness flipped up the catches holding the visor down on her oxygen mask when she came into the greenhouse. 
I came over to ask if you could lend me some fuses for my TV phone, she said right off the bat. The thing is all out of sorts, and I have to fix it. I've already blown three fuses and I don't have any more. As soon as the people in Gagaringrad spot a little dust in the sky, they use it as an excuse for not budging a centimeter outside the Hellas district.  
Cato's mouth opened wide. 
Repairing a TV phone connection yourself... he repeated. But do you have a repair license?  
Bah, Erness snorted. Let those bureaucratic bumpkins try to cause trouble, and I'll give them a word or two of truth. She looked at Cato with her impatient light-blue eyes. Do you have a couple of fuses or not? If not, I'm sure Gomez can lend me some.  
Of course I have extra fuses, Cato said quickly. Come with me into the house, and I'll go and search around for some. I know I should have some out in the workshop after I replaced the link here when I moved into the house.  

Erness was standing in the house and waiting while Cato went into a back room. When he came out again, she was standing over the sofa Marianne was lying on. She turned around to Cato as she pointed to Marianne, who had now started moaning in her sleep. 
And what ails her?  
Cato held back a smart retort. This woman was so unimpressionable that it would have no effect on her, anyway. 
Stomach cramps, he said curtly. 
Stomach cramps! coming from Erness's mouth it sounded like cussing. She bent over Marianne, who looked up. She tried to smile at Lydia Erness, but it was just a grin. Her face looked dismally pale compared to the black hair which lay spread out on the blue pillow. She willingly let Erness's fingers explore her. 
Does it hurt here?  
Marianne nodded. 
Yes. Her voice was barely above a whisper. 
Does it hurt most here?  
The grimace on Marianne's face answered before she could get out another 'yes'. 
The child needs a doctor, and right away. It may just be intestinal flu, as you say, but I doubt it. It looks more like an inflamed appendix, if you ask me.  
Appendix... Cato repeated, and looked at her in alarm. I called up the medical center, but they couldn't send anybody out here.  
Lydia Erness busied herself with the pillow and gave a short, hard laugh. 
Of course. Because of the 'severe dust storms,' right?  
Cato nodded helplessly. 
I'll call them up again, he said. I'll have them do a diagnosis over the TV phone.  
Don't bother. They'll give you the same run-around. Their indifference to us has already cost human life both here and in other farm districts. They need us to cultivate the food they gobble down so that they won't have to import it at expensive prices from Earth, but no simple country yokel is going to get them to risk anything in order to lend a helping hand when it is needed.  
Wait a minute. Cato began an exasperated protest, but she brushed it aside with a hand gesture. 
I'll get your little girl a doctor, she said. A qualified one.  
Cato looked at her for a long time before he came up with what he wanted to say. 
You...you , he stammered. How? Where from?  
That's my business. Erness opened the air lock door. What do you say?  
Yeah, thanks. I say thank you very much, Cato said, bewildered. 
Good.  
She closed the air lock door right in his face. He opened it back up. 
From the MSO? he asked. 
Erness smiled, but did not utter a sound. 

A plan, an idea took shape in Cato's mind. He tried to reject it, but could no. So he tried to find something wrong with it, but could not. 
He punched up the number he had been given for the SIS headquarters and asked to speak with Urisow. 
Urisow's narrow face flashed on the screen. 
Yes? His voice sounded impatient. Then he recognized Cato. Oh, it's you. That was quick. Do you have something to report?  
Cato savored the situation for a moment. For once it was he, Cato Thorsen, who was killing a flock of birds with one stone. He combined a patriotic, law-abiding act with a sure reward for himself. 
What do you say to arresting one or more MSO members? he blurted out. 
Urisow's eyes got big for a fraction of a second before they became narrow and sly again. 
Explain yourself.  
Cato gave a short summary of what had taken place. 
And your demands? Urisow's face was impassive now, after the first surprised look. 
Cato found that he had a liking for this man. He smiled. 
Well, Mars'll be an unlivable place for me after this. I'll have to have free passage back to Earth, and some money is fifty thousand too much?  
Urisow didn't bat an eye. 
You got it, provided that it really is an MSO doctor who gets caught in the trap. I'm counting on the fact that a doctor will have a lot of information he could divulge, names... Oh well. We'll show up. You can count on that.  
One more thing. The most important thing on my part. Send over another doctor for my daughter.  
OK.  
Urisow broke the connection. 
Cato Thorsen heaved a surprised sigh of relief. So soft it was gone in a flash. Presto! All his problems were over. And besides, he could be proud of doing society a service by contributing to the rounding up of a dangerous terrorist organization. 

The MSO doctor introduced herself as Dr. Vanda Minescu while the two armed militia people, dressed in camouflage suits, who accompanied her merely shook hands and mumbled indistinctly. 
The doctor had just begun to examine Marianne when the SIS people emerged from the back room. 
One rebel soldier tried to pick up her weapon which she had carelessly leaned against the wall behind her, but got a terrible blow on the neck with a rifle butt. She fell straight to the floor and writhed around. The other one raised his hands over his head. He looked Cato up and down. 
Bastard, he spat. You damn bastard!  
Shut up! SIS officer M'boto snarled and raised his pistol threateningly. 
Meanwhile the SIS people snapped handcuffs on the soldier on the floor, and were busy holding Dr. Minescu's hands behind her back. She did not utter a sound, she just looked at Cato furiously and accusingly, who irritatingly felt himself become red in the face. 
That should teach you a lesson, doctor, the officer sneered. There are still ordinary farmers and prospectors who are completely and fully loyal to their mother planet. But you people have been preaching for so long and loud about yourself as 'the people's representatives' that you've begun to believe your own lies. He turned to Cato. Thank you, Citizen Thorsen, this was easier than shooting fish in a barrel. Have you packed your things?  
My things? No--  
Then go and get a suitcase and throw everything you're going to need into it if you don't want to be around here when these people's cohorts come calling.  
Cato shook his head speechlessly. 
All right, let's get a move on, M'boto growled impatiently. Come on, come on! He snapped his fingers to emphasize his last order. 
Hold on! Cato protested. In any case, one thing I have to insist on is going to come before anything else. My daughter. Urisow promised to send a doctor who could both examine and treat her if need be. That comes first.  
The officer exchanged glances with one of the SIS soldiers. 
Corporal Groeder here, he's a trained doctor, right, Groeder?  
Yes, sir, the diminutive corporal bowed. 
So go on in now and look at the kid. And make it snappy!  
There was a pause while Groeder examined Marianne, who was too groggy and exhausted to have understood very much of what had transpired. She whimpered quietly while Groeder was busy with her. Then he got back up. 
Nothing seriously wrong with your little girl, sir, that I can see. Just some strong gas pains.  
Dr. Minescu laughed loudly and scornfully. 
The child has an inflamed appendix and should have been operated on long ago. I doubt she'll survive being transported to Gagaringrad even in a flyer.  
Bull, the SIS officer snarled. From now on keep your trap shut until you're spoken to. He slapped Minescu on the face with the flat of his hand. A thin stream of blood ran down from her lips and onto her chin. You can regard that as a foretaste of what's in store for you. M'boto turned to Cato again. You heard what the Corporal said, Mr. Thorsen. You can rest easy about everything. Go on and pack your things, and, as I said, make it snappy! And then you and your kid will be in Gagaringrad before you know it.  
But Cato was only half listening. As if half asleep, he lifted Marianne up and carried her out of the workshop with him. 
What Dr. Minescu had said was swirling around in his head. He carefully laid Marianne down on a bench, covering her well up. He kissed her on the forehead. 
Your daddy's a fool, Marianne. Whatever I do now is probably going to turn out equally wrong.  
He went back into the room and put on his pressure suit. 
I have to get something out in the greenhouses, he said. Be right back.  
Out in the greenhouse he turned on the light. Experimentally he lifted a long cutting knife. It certainly was not much of an arsenal he was holding... 
What are you doing? Homing knives in the middle of the night?  
Cato spun around and stood face to face with Lydia Erness. She had crept up on him so quietly and he had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had not heard her come in through the air lock. He bit his lip. 
Take it easy, man, Erness said. You're really dog-tired. What is it... I hope it's not... Marianne? A hint of apprehension crept into her voice. 
No, Lydia Erness, he said. That's not it. Not yet. I've gotten everything into a terrible mess. So terrible...  
And then the whole story came pouring out of him, words rushed out of his mouth helter skelter. 
When he was finished, Erness looked at him with a gloomy face. 
Well, you certainly turned out to be a nice one...  
She drew her pistol. Cato fumbled behind him and found the long knife. 

I've changed my mind, Mr. M'boto, Cato said. I'm not going to Gagaringrad. Not while Marianne is so sick. I'll be along in my own vehicle in a couple of days if she's better by then.  
What? Are you crazy? Don't you know what risks you're running if you don't come with us right now? Tomorrow at the latest it's going to be swarming with rebels around here, and they'll hardly be satisfied with the answers you come up with when they ask what happened to the doctor here and her two bodyguards.  
I'll probably be able to bluff my way out of it, Cato said. 
Go with them, Thorsen, and take your daughter along, Minescu butted in unexpectedly. I'm not saying this for your sake. You can be buried alive in the desert dust for all I care but she at least has a fighting chance if she gets to Gagaringrad by tonight.  
Cato defiantly stared at the floor. 
I've made my decision. And as a matter of fact I believe you gave the wrong diagnosis, doctor. It's not the appendix that is the problem.  
OK. It's your funeral. The SIS commander touched his hand to his forehead to demonstrate what he meant of Cato Thorsen. We can't waste any more time on this guy, men. It's going to be a long night tonight if I'm not too mistaken. But probably with its bright spots. He looked at Dr. Minescu, and what he was thinking was clearly written all over his face. 

Cato turned the air lock wheel and locked it. Next, he turned to the TV phone and punched up a number. 

M'boto cussed impatiently while two men tinkered with the engine desperately to find out what was wrong. In an agitated state he looked at his watch then at the soldiers working on the engine and back again, and then over at the prisoners whose faces he could barely make out behind the lattice-covered windows in the holding room. Some other soldiers were busy rolling up the camouflage tarpaulin. The temporary working lights cast a sparse yellow glow on the scene down in the small round meteor crater on the other side of Cato Thorsen's greenhouse. The shallow hole in the Martian landscape had offered itself as the perfect hiding place for the flyer. 
Cato Thorsen, that fool, had also come out and was down in the crater trying to help with the repairs while all he actually did was get in the way. 
Corporal Groeder climbed down from the cockpit and saluted stiffly. 
The radio's on the blink, sir, he said. And if you ask me what I mean, I think it looks suspiciously like sabotage.  
Sabotage? Sabotage! With that the commander came alive and cussed softly to himself. Corporal, go in with Thorsen and use his TV phone to get in touch with headquarters. We've got to have reinforcements on the double!  

Fifteen minutes later Groeder came back crestfallen. His helmet radio crackled as he turned it on. 
Thorsen's TV phone is out too, sir.  
Yes, I don't understand it, Cato babbled. It was working fine this afternoon when I-- Thorsen! M'boto pointed his index finger at Cato. There's something funny going on here.  
Nobody ever found out what he was going to say because right at that moment lights from ten desert vehicles pierced the darkness, and bathed the craters and farmstead in light. Concealed by darkness and the thin air that carried no sounds to the SIS people, the vehicles had surrounded them. And immediately Lydia Erness's voice burst out of the loudspeakers in all the helmet radios. 
You're surrounded and trying to shoot your way out or trying to harm the prisoners will lead to a shoot-out in which no SIS personnel will be spared! Put down your weapons and get up against the flyer!  
They obeyed hesitatingly. M'boto fiercely stared into the lights and raised his laser gun. 
Put it down, commander!  
Cato's voice quavered, but the pistol stayed in his hand and pointed right at M'boto's chest. 
In the vehicle lights armed MSO personnel moved down toward them. 
Cato, Erness's voice again sounded over the radio. Unlock the doctor and the others, will you. The commander has the handcuff keys. We can only hope Minescu's hands aren't too shaky to hold her operating laser steady. Furthermore, I'd be happy to have my pistol back.  

The trick Cato played on Urisow was so outlandish that it almost had to succeed. 
Urisow's sharp eyes glared at Cato. 
...haven't gotten there, he repeated softly. Haven't my men gotten there yet? But we got a radio report that they had landed...  
Cato shrugged. 
Neither they nor the MSO doctor has shown up around here. Luckily nothing serious was wrong with my daughter. She's a lot better already.  
Urisow completely ignored his last statement. 
The misfits, he chewed it out. The dad-burned hoodlums have in some devious way managed to elude us again!  
Dr. Minescu chuckled in the doorway when Cato broke the connection. 
You've just been written off as spy material for SIS, she said. But for that matter there was one thing you were right about in what you said yesterday evening. You're a super bluffer!  

Marianne was quietly sleeping after the operation when he went to check on the greenhouses for the night. You're alone again, you two, but not the same way as before, that he knew. 
Yet he felt inexpliccably downhearted. The course of events had simply pushed him along. In a moment of confusion he had changed sides and thereby changed his future for all time. And still without being sure about what was right and wrong. 
Deep down inside, he might remain linked to Earth forever? 
He had certainly gained something these last two days, but what had he lost? 
His heavy, coarse boots left deep furrows in the loose Martian soil. In the sky a big blue-white star beamed down. It was almost as bright as Phobos it was Earth. But Cato Thorsen forced himself not to look at it.