Fixed by Beth Goobie Page B

off. Then everything started again, but this time Lt. Neem’s voice merged with the entire process, coming through the speaker in her right ear.
    “Code 999: you hate,” it said, calm and neutral, as Nellie’s foot rose from the floor and smashed into the mannequin’s chin. “That’s right,” the voice continued as her foot was lowered. “You hate. It is good to hate. Hate makes you a functional cadet. A functional cadet hates anything that threatens the Empire. The Goddess commands you to hate Her enemies. If you love the Goddess, you hate Her enemies. Love is hate and hate is love. There is no difference,” said the voice placidly. “You are a hate machine, a love machine of metal and shock. Love the Goddess, hate Her enemies. Code 999: love, hate, love, hate.” Waves of shock tore through Nellie’s leg and her foot flew repeatedly upward, smashing the mannequin’s chin in starbursts of heat and light. “Hate is your greatest weapon,” the voice approved coolly. “It is your soul. You think, breathe, you are hate.”
    Another searing jolt of shock tore through Nellie’s leg and she gritted her teeth, remembering the lessons she’d learned in previous workouts : A functional cadet likes pain. She suffers with joy. Pain is joy, pain is light held inside the body. Pain is like a star. Grunting quietly, Nellie tried to imagine the pain in her leg as stars glowing in her muscles. Sometimes the agony grew so fierce, she could actually see the vibrations as flames roaring through her skin. “You hate,” said the voice in her ear, and her foot flew upward, punching the mannequin’s impervious face. “You hate,” said the voice, and a groan slipped from her lips as yet another jolt of shock ripped through her leg. “You hate,” said the voice, and Nellie screamed, stars ricocheting past her eyes as her foot rose and smashed the mannequin so hard, it broke free of its stand and went spinning across the floor.
    Immediately the virtual-reality glasses shut off. Stars stopped shooting past her eyes and the high-pitched beeping was silenced. By the time her foot was lowered to the floor, Lt. Neem was at her side, unstrapping the harness. “Walk,” he said, his voice still coming through the speaker in her right ear. “Walk it off, ride the light back to ground level.”
    Shakily Nellie began to walk around the mannequins, her left leg throbbing and wobbly. As she did, the virtual-reality glasses came back on, but faintly, the stars and planets fading and lifting upward, as if retreating into the distance. Still her breathing was a savage gulping force, squeezing her lungs. She paused, leaning against a wall, and watched the last of the stars fade from the lenses before her eyes.
    “Pushed it a little too far that time,” Lt. Neem called cheerfully, his voice now free of the speaker and back in his body. “We’ll have to adjust the pace — can’t have you tearing the dolls limb from limb.”
    Nellie grinned uncertainly and began to shake the throb out of her left leg. She didn’t usually erupt like that. Lt. Neem must have pitched the beeping too high or used too much shock. He was probably putting her through some kind of upgrading, maybe even toughening her for a special assignment. Either that or she was an absolute loser weakling. Fucking wimp , Nellie berated herself silently. You’re a suck, Kinnan, a suck. She took a long slow breath. It was always difficult when the voltage was increased. Until she adjusted, it was more like fighting the light than riding it.
    “Over here,” called Lt. Neem. “We’ll work your right arm for a while.”
    Giving her leg a last shake, Nellie headed toward the lieutenant. Things felt okay again, the burn in her calf muscle substantially decreased, and anyway, she would be working her right arm now. Arms were easier than legs — they moved quicker and took less effort. Less shock. Lt. Neem knew her limits, when to push and when to lay off. Coming up beside him,