Free Back From the Dead by Rolf Nelson

useless.”
    “Like souvenirs?”
    Harbin shoots Helton a dark look. “There’s a first time for everything. Normally they’re as useful as a screen door on a spaceship.” He shrugs fatalistically. “Been a while since I was one-upped on getting shot and living to talk about it. That’s something to tell your grandkids about. Any more ideas about the book?”
    “Nope. At least it’s open, now. Lots of damaged pages, but they are seriously tough. Some sort of metalized carbon nano-tube stuff, I think. No idea who made it. Can’t go back without government clearance, and they’re not letting us anywhere near that prison mine again. Haven’t told the authorities about the cave or the book. Ah, well. It all worked out okay. Good guys lived, bad guys mostly died, official investigation started–”
    “Likely just a whitewash–”
    “-but started anyway. Some official reward cash and …” Helton looks over at a few young ladies sitting nearby, “a couple of cute new friends who owe me their lives.” One with a kid next to her smiles back when she notices him looking at her.
    Harbin grins. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hero.”
    “After a near-death experience, you think about things. Long-term, life sort of things. I do, anyway.”
    “Been there. Were I younger and single, I would again, too. Met my wife that way, just after…” Harbin is silent for a moment. “Being close to death does make you think about life. The closer you get, the deeper you see into yourself. No real risks, no deep thoughts.”
    “Feels good to have more control of my life again.”
    “Any plans till your flight pulls out next week?”
    Helton shrugs. “See the sights. Meet people, hopefully a cute one. Get a new coat. Find a game. Try to stop being amazed that I actually landed something without killing anyone.”
    “If you call that a landing.”
    “Picky, picky, picky. We walked away, didn’t we?”
    “Technically. If you define ‘walk away’ broadly enough,” Harbin says grudgingly. “All things considered, you did well. You did your family proud.”
    They clink their glasses, lean back in their chairs, and drink.
    Cards
    Five men and three women at a card table in a discreetly lit, respectable entertainment establishment. All are nicely dressed and there are a lot of chips on the table. Helton has the smallest stack, but it’s still substantial. Half a dozen people stand around watching.
    Helton eyes his cards and the lone ten of spades in the center of the table, then tosses in a pair of chips. The woman to his left folds silently. The next player pushes in two chips to meet and raises by three chips of a different kind. The onlookers murmur.
    Four men and two women and the three of diamonds. A dozen people are now watching. Helton’s heap of chips is about average, compared to the others’. He pushes a stack of ten brightly colored chips into the center, adding to the large pile already there, prompting surprised exclamations from the observers. The long-haired woman beside him slams down her cards in disgust.
    The man to her left has only ten chips of the same kind left. He eyes the pot nervously and looks at his hand, then his chips. He swallows and pushes his stack in. The next player folds.
    Three men and the nine of clubs and two dozen watchers. Three quarters of the chips not in the pot are in front of Helton. A grim, skinny man with long flowing hair, a goatee, and dark glasses has most of the rest. The last man — average build, sharply dressed, short hair, tendency to tremble — has only ten chips left. Helton looks over the other two players’ stacks and pushes forward a pile, about half what Grim Guy has remaining. The dealer rakes the pile closer to the pot but carefully keeps it separate. Trembler trembles: he’s forced out, or at least can’t win from a large side pot. Grim Guy matches Helton’s bet, and again the dealer keeps it slightly apart. Trembler trembles more.
    The dealer looks