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The little bat clings to the booster tank until just before they crack atmosphere, then pries its claws free and drops. It’s too thin up here for wings, and his joints barely respond anyway; he just falls, with a startling terminal velocity, until his half-frozen elbows can open enough to send him into the corkscrew of a broken dive.

Buzz breaks the link and pulls off his helmet. “That was so better than skydiving,” he gasps.

“What is it like to be a bat?” asks his operator, shutting down.

“Kickass!” says Buzz, as a wobbly vespertilionid bonks into the window.