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tell me what you’re thinking.  Why do you think your idea solves anything?”
    This I had rehearsed.  “Ma’am.  A graduation requirement makes me more officially a student” rather than a bundle of stupid Arm reactions that ran me through a roller coaster of statuses ranging from dangerous threat to barely tolerated slave “and, as a student, I can’t be competition for you.  I ’m hopeful I will annoy you less in this case.”
    “Perhaps yes, perhaps no.  How about you?”
    What will keep my own urges to be dominant in their proper place?  “Ma’am, a graduation requirement will serve to distract me from those improper urges, and will constantly remind me those urges are wrong.”
    Keaton sighed, theatric.  “Overthought as usual.  On your head be it.  I’m not promising to be easier on you, understand.  I’m just giving you a goal to work for.”
    She agreed!  “Thank you ma’am.  Thank you.”  I meant it, too.
    I expected some thought before she came up with a graduation goal, but she surprised me, with no hesitation: “How about this, scag: you leave when you defeat me in combat when I’m not burning.”
    Burning meant ‘burning juice’, an important Arm trick I had failed to learn, one I should learn before I graduated, and the only sane way I might be able to beat her in combat.  Her idea was intellectually plausible and appealed to my scheming mind.  My instincts quailed, though, at the thought of beating her .  I and my smelly fear sweat decided this was another test.  It took a full minute of Keatonic exasperation to think my way through why my instincts rebelled and what to say to her next.  “Ma’am, I do not want to leave here with you remembering me as competition.  Anything that has me defeating you in any way would be wrong.”  I thought Arms should be able to work together in a social fashion, something I had mentioned to Keaton once or twice.  She distrusted all my ahem overthought ahem speculations, of course, but did appreciate them as a sounding board.  Some of the time.
    “Huh.”  Keaton for: ‘thank you for the obvious answer, you scag’.
    Another test passed.  She thought and let me sweat.  I couldn’t read her, at least too often, but I suspected she left me waiting and sweating on purpose, already knowing what she would say and do.
    Her eyes focused on me, hot, a full two minutes later.  “A choice then, decided now.  Option one is to bring me a prey Transform and give the Transform to me.  Option two is to give me a million dollars.”
    Again with the options.  This time my instincts didn’t quail.  I understood her unstated point, as my choice would define our relationship from then on.  Both sounded nearly impossible, but that’s how it should be.  “Option one, ma’am,” I said, with no hesitation.  I wanted whatever relationship Keaton and I had in the future to be as Transforms, not as businesswomen.
    Keaton nodded.  “The harder one.  Good.”  As in: I would rather not flush the investment I made in you down the toilet; by choosing the harder option I will get more time to teach you how to better succeed – oh, and get more time with my personal punching bag.
    Giving up my prey would not be easy.  On our first hunt together, I discovered Keaton couldn’t give up prey.  The hard way.  I also knew she had mastered the ability to give up prey sometime in the last five months, so doing so was possible.  I didn’t know how to go about learning this Arm trick, though.  No way would she be teaching me how, of course, if she set this as my graduation requirement.
    On the other hand, I had a gut feeling giving up prey would be easier than coming up with a million dollars.  For me.  Money and I were on speaking terms , but we weren’t close friends.
    I took a deep breath and barreled on.  My plan also involved positive reinforcement.  “Ma’am , I also have something I would like permission to show you.  Something I