Ceres, June 3 (Interplanetary News Service)--The three men and three women who allegedly kidnapped ten-year-old Shmuel BenChaim were brought to justice today through the single-handed efforts of Stanley Martin, famed investigator for Lloyd's of London. The boy, held prisoner for more than ten months on a small asteroid, was reported in very good health. According to Lt. John Vale, of the Planetoid Police, the kidnap gang could not have been taken by direct assault on their hideout because of fear that the boy might be killed. "The operation required a carefully-planned, one-man infiltration of their hideout," he said. "Mr. Martin was the man for the job." Labeled "the most outrageous kidnapping in history", the affair was conceived as a long-term method of gaining control of Heavy Metals Incorporated, controlled by Moishe BenChaim, the boy's father. The details.... * * * * * But Bart Stanton wasn't interested in the details. After only a glance through the first part of the article, his eyes returned to the picture alongside the article. The line of print beneath it identified the man in the picture as Stanley Martin. But a voice in Bart Stanton's brain said: _Not Stan Martin! The name is Mart Stanton!_ And Bartholomew felt a roar of confusion in his mind, because he didn't know who Mart Stanton was, and because the face in the picture was his own. XI He was walking again. He didn't quite remember how he had left the automat, and he didn't even try to remember. He was trying to remember other things--farther back--before he had-- Before he had what? Before the Institute; before the beginning of the operations. The memories were there, just beyond the grasp of his conscious mind, like the memories of a dream after one has awakened. Each time he tried to reach into the darkness to grasp one of the pieces, it would break up into smaller bits. The patterns were too fragile to withstand the direct probing of his conscious mind. Only the resulting fragments held together long enough to be analyzed. And, while part of his mind probed frantically after the elusive particles of memory, another part of it watched the process with semi-detached amusement. He had always known there were holes in his memory (_Always? Don't be silly, pal!_), but it was disconcerting to find an area that was as riddled as a used machine-gun target. The whole fabric had been punched to bits.