The Next Time We Die

We journey to far places, driven on by ideals. We fight for lost causes, sacrificing our lives because the things we fight for seem worthwhile. But are we right? Are they worth being killed over? Perhaps. Then again, maybe we'll know better—The Next Time We Die
Now in the nooning, with the sun high overhead and the shadows huddling dispiritedly at their sides, the threat that existed in this wild desert was completely invisible.
The girl, Nora Martin, said, What I don't understand is why we were so stupid as to come here in the first place. We could have stayed on Earth and had homes and families. Becoming conscious of what she had said, she hastily corrected herself. I mean, each of us could have had a home and a family.
Pike McLean shifted the muzzle of the Rangeley just a trifle, adjusting it so that the cross hairs in the periscope sight covered the exact spot where he expected, and hoped, the next native would appear. He tried to dig the sand out of his eyes. Since he had sand on his hands, this only got more of the gritty particles into his eyes. He wished fervidly for a deep satisfying breath of the thick muggy air of Earth before he died.
This air, there's not anything to it, he muttered.
The girl glanced sharply at him. She had eyes that were as blue as the skies of Earth on a sunny day. The dirt on her nose made her look human. At this moment, the eyes had anger in them. Back of the anger were unshed tears.
Did you hear what I said? she repeated.
McLean shifted his long body so that it lay a little lower in the depression in the sand. I guess you came here because you're an archeologist and you're getting paid to examine ruins. I came here because I'm a roustabout who is supposed to be able to do anything, which is what I'm getting paid for. He paused and removed an offending grain of sand from his right eyelid. Dying is not much, he continued. Why are you so frazzled about it? It doesn't even hurt, when you really get to it, that is.