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.
XIHE 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 o
