McLean pulled himself up on one knee and one hand. There was a hole in his chest as big as his fist, but there was no pain. The high energy radiation from the needle gun seared the nerve endings so that no sensations were transmitted. The roustabout shook his fist at the native crouched under the car. "You got us this time," he yelled. "But we'll be back again. You can't lick us. We'll get you if it takes another million years." The drive that had brought _homo sapiens_ up from the mud flats was in his voice. His head began to swim. He took another deep breath. Beside him, the girl lay completely silent. Only her eyes showed that she knew what had happened. McLean looked at her. There was still something that he wanted to say. His mind was fogging and he had difficulty in finding the words. "The next time through, I want to meet you earlier," he said at last. "I want us to have the chance we missed this trip, of a home and a bunch of--" He coughed. "And a bunch of kids," he ended. The girl said nothing. She was beyond the ability to speak. But she understood him. The glow that came into her eyes made them as beautiful, and as full of promise, as the skies of Earth. McLean quietly laid down. The returning tribesmen danced their wild victory dance around the two humans. Level and bare, the endless sands of Mars stretched far away. End of Project Gutenberg's The Next Time We Die, by Robert Moore Williams