The physical therapist who was standing by glanced at his watch. It was almost time.
Pok! Pok! Ping!
The machine, having delivered its last ball, shut itself off with a smug click. Stanton turned away from the handball court and walked toward the physical therapist, who held out a robe for him.
"That was good, Bart," he said, "real good."
"One miss," Stanton said as he shrugged into the robe.
"Yeah. Your timing was a shade off there, I guess. But you ran a full minute over your previous record."
Stanton looked at him. "You re-set the timer again," he said accusingly. But there was a grin on his face.
The P.T. man grinned back. "Yup. Come on, step into the mummy case." He waved toward the narrow niche in the wall of the court, a niche just big enough to hold a standing man. Stanton stepped in, and various instrument pick-ups came out of the walls and touched his body. Hidden machines recorded his heartbeat, blood pressure, brain activity, muscular tension, and several other factors.
After a minute, the P.T. man said, "O.K., Bart; let's hit the steam box."
Stanton stepped out of the niche and accompanied the therapist to another room, where he took off the robe again and sat down on the small stool inside an ordinary steam box. The box closed, leaving his head free, and the box began to fill with steam.