(Boilerplate legalese: Canaan is, as should be quite obvious, a creation of Type-Moon and PA Works, not me.)

One Day in Paradise

Canaan would have preferred to wake up unable to recall any of the previous night's events. She'd been sober throughout, however, and so she remembered – with embarrassing clarity – exactly how she came to be lying naked in a narrow bunk, trapped between a steel bulkhead covered by something intended to resemble wood paneling, and an equally naked woman. Looking over this sleeping obstacle, Canaan could see several articles of clothing lying in a careless jumble on the floor, her own among them.

Enough of this farce, the pale-haired woman thought tiredly. She carefully lifted herself and was swinging a leg over the side of the bunk when a dusky arm slipped across her back. Looking down, she was greeted by that same old maddening smirk.

"Leaving already?"

The mocking voice set Canaan's teeth on edge. "Alphard, I have work to do."

"You have work tonight," the woman underneath corrected smugly. "Where are you going before the sun is up?"

"..."

"I thought so." Alphard languidly bent a knee so that so that Canaan was forced to straddle it. "You made such cute noises last night... Let me hear them again."

Canaan locked her elbows, preventing the other woman from pulling her down. "If you don't keep your word after this – "

"Feh... Why wouldn't I?" The taller of the pair wrapped her other leg around Canaan's waist, then used her elbow to raise herself. "Now that I have you where I want you, your precious Maria has nothing to fear from me."

Canaan could feel her arms weakening, but held out a little longer. "And just why is your bed the place where you want me?"

"You were the one who told me to go on living." Alphard smirked again. "And this is the ultimate act of life, isn't it? ...Besides, don't you think the tension makes it more exciting?"

The synesthete flushed a little. "I... wouldn't know."

"You're as childish as ever." Alphard stretched her neck. "Kiss me."

Canaan complied grudgingly. Might as well get it over with now, she reasoned, and hope that Alphard didn't ask for a third round later. Their lips were pressing together when there came a knock at the narrow door on the far side of the cabin. "Boss, you awake?"

Of Alphard's previous lieutenants, one had died in a fit of jealous insanity and the other had discarded his worldly ways for the life of a monk. She'd replaced them by promoting two women whose backgrounds Canaan couldn't confidently discern, individuals who went by the names Boxer and Berdan. It was the latter who had interrupted the pair.

"I am awake," Alphard answered, keeping a firm grasp on Canaan's body. "What news?"

"No problems," the muffled voice replied. "Forecast is still good, and no unwanted company. We've got the island all to ourselves."

"Excellent. Anything else?"

"I told Boxer to get some shuteye and made some coffee. Would you, uh, like some?"

Alphard sank back onto the sheets, tugging Canaan down atop herself. "In a little while," she said placidly. The look on her face was plain to read: no escape, my dear.

A small cardboard box came flying at Canaan's head almost as soon as she emerged from the aft hatchway. Catching it by pure reflex, she discovered it was a package of sweets. "'Morning, shrimp," Berdan grunted, perched at the yacht's stern with a bucket between her knees. "I got the right brand, didn't I?"

"Yes..." Deft fingers opened one end of the box, extracted a narrow stick and peeled back the wrapper. "Thank you."

Berdan made a noncommittal grunt and went back to peeling potatoes. She was a redhead with sinewy limbs and a grumbling temperament, and the boat was hers, at least nominally. She made no secret of the fact that she disliked having Canaan aboard it. Canaan decided to just leave the skipper alone and turned her face to the east, rolling the sugary tip of the rod across her tongue as she watched the morning sun hanging low over Hawksbill Cay. Two or three minutes passed before she turned her eyes towards Berdan again, catching her in the act of wiping an arm across her forehead. The other woman was already starting to sweat.

"Are you all right?" Maybe it was a stupid question, but it was the kind Maria would definitely ask.

"Fine," Berdan muttered. She threw what might have been an envious glance at Canaan as she reached for another potato. "You're from a hot place, ain't you?"

"Hot and dry," Canaan replied ambiguously. "Not humid like this."

"Huh... Still, looks like you're handling it pretty good."

"I suppose." The khaki shorts and the red and white Hawaiian shirt were lightweight enough, but Berdan's own all-white clothes weren't especially heavy either. Maybe Canaan's origin did have an influence. "Would you rather be someplace cold?"

"Cold?" Berdan squinted. "What do you know about cold, eh?"

"I know cold can be an enemy as much as heat."

"Hah." The henchwoman whipped her knife across the potato's surface so sharply that the next slice missed the bucket entirely. "I'd take the Fundy in January over this sauna any day."

"You really don't like the Bahamas."

"What's there to like? The reefs? The sandbanks? The friggin' tourists?"

"That's enough, Berdan." Alphard emerged from the cabin, clad in a dark two-piece swimsuit with a towel strategically draped over her shoulder to conceal the stump of her left arm. Her surviving hand grasped the handle of a large case, which she passed to Canaan before sitting down. "I'm not paying you to complain."

"Sorry, boss."

Canaan, meanwhile, had opened the case to discover that it contained the components of a compact, silent sniper rifle. "Alphard, why..?"

"It's more subtle than the SIG you brought," her erstwhile nemesis pointed out. "There's a starlight scope in the bottom compartment."

"It doesn't have enough range."

"Not if you were planning to interdict Duquesne at the dock or the airstrip," Alphard agreed, "but wouldn't it be far easier for you to eliminate him at the party itself?"

"I'd go with that," Berdan spoke up. "The guards on the island are packing seven-six-two FNs with optics. You don't wanna be going loud around those guys, x-ray vision or no."

"I know." Canaan lifted the rifle's receiver group out of the case. "But I haven't handled a Vintorez in a long time."

"You have all day to practice," Alphard replied evenly. "And there's another good reason to use it."

"What's that?"

"Duquesne thinks the Russians are after him," Berdan cut in again. "Didn't you hear?"

"No."

"Okay, listen – three weeks ago he whacked a couple of FSB agents who were snooping on his Kaliningrad racket. Now he's convinced the Ivans are coming for payback, and he's told all his buddies to be on the lookout for them." The irritable one nodded towards the case on Canaan's lap. "You cap him with that, who'll suspect it was anybody else?"

"I see." Canaan frowned. "How can I be sure he'll be exposed during the party?"

"Leave that to me," said Alphard, rising to her feet. She nodded towards the dinghy drifting under the boat's stern. "Shall we?"

Pschhht!

"Hit, a little bit high."

Pschhht!

"Hit, dead center."

Pschhht!

"Hit, center again."

"I'm out." Canaan removed the magazine, racked the bolt carrier and began to disassemble the weapon. "That was the last of the ammo."

"Mm." Her one-armed spotter unhurriedly folded the miniature tripod on which her rangefinder scope sat. Neither spoke as they packed their things and set out towards the standing piece of wood at which Canaan had been shooting, across the broad, shallow depression in the island's center. "Look at that," Alphard said after a few minutes. "So carefree, don't you think?"

"Huh?"

"The simplicity of their existence." The dark-haired woman pointed into the meandering channel beside which they walked, one of several which snaked through the sands, where a pair of black rays the size of hubcaps were swimming. "The freedom of not being burdened by conscience."

Canaan was neither a philosopher nor a marine biologist, but it seemed to her that a life consisting of naught but eating and trying to not be eaten long enough to find a mate wasn't much of a life. "Natsume Yuri wants me to kill you," she said, trudging on in her floppy sandals. It was an abrupt revelation, but the heat was starting to affect even her. "You already know that, don't you?"

"I do." Leaving the rays behind, Alphard waded into the middle of the channel itself. "Were you surprised by it?"

"No," the synesthete admitted. "I knew you were alive as soon as my old gun came back."

"That Beretta didn't suit me," her companion declared. "Besides, I knew you'd never turn it on me again."

"True." Canaan's hazel eyes scanned the tree-lined ridge ahead, which marked the island's eastern shore. "If I did that, my final order would be meaningless."

When she looked at Alphard again, she was surprised to see her old enemy smiling at her with none of the brash attitude to which she had become so accustomed. "I don't think I truly understood what Siam was trying to tell me until after I fell into the river," Alphard recalled with a hint of nostalgia. "The thing which mattered most..."

"Which is?"

"You." Alphard spoke with solemn certainty. "You are Hope, who fills the void of the Loneliness which is me."

"...What?"

"You were never very good with metaphors." Alphard laughed a little as she stepped out of the water and onto the bank at Canaan's side. "It's ironic... Liang and Cummings were destroyed by their unrequited loves, and I scorned them for it. I never thought it was possible for me to share the experience."

"Experience?" Canaan raised an eyebrow as the duo finally arrived at the target. Alphard can't possibly mean what I think she means. She simply isn't that kind of –

"You, meanwhile... Abandoning Oosawa Maria was quite a waste of opportunity."

Canaan flushed. "I never abandoned her," she said defensively. "I just... can't be near her when all I do is put her in danger."

"Is protecting her too great a burden for you?" Alphard regarded Canaan keenly. "Or are you afraid you might someday fail?"

"..!"

Alphard found her answer in Canaan's expression. "Well, then... What if I protected her for you?"

When Canaan spoke, her voice was so low that the rolling surf nearly drowned it. "Why would you do that?"

"Because it would benefit both of us. Do I need a better reason?"

Canaan bit her lip. She might consider such a proposal if it came from certain others, but to hear it from Alphard of all people... "How could I possibly entrust her to you?"

"Who else, then? We know each other so well, you and I." Alphard's smirk returned as she knelt before the sniping target, the weathered face of the chunk of flotsam splintered by the clustered impacts of heavy nine millimeter spitzers. "I'll let you think about it." On that note she tipped the wood over and began scooping sand over it. "We're done here, and I imagine Berdan will fuss if we're late for lunch."

"Mm..."

Concealment of the evidence complete, Alphard rose and took the rifle case from Canaan. "Permit me."

"Radar and satellites are showing a lot of activity up there," Berdan remarked. "Must be one hell of a party."

"That's right." Alphard emerged from the cabin in a very close-fitting maroon dress, camouflaging her missing arm with a silk shawl. "How do I look?"

"Damn sexy, boss."

Boxer briefly took her eyes off the screens beside the wheel and nodded in agreement. "Very good, ma'am."

"You're sure this will work?" Canaan pressed, coming out behind Alphard.

"Of course," the lady of the evening replied casually. "Don't underestimate the weight my name carries with these people."

Canaan hoped so. Dusk was falling rapidly around the boat, more and more stars winking into view with each advancing minute. There wasn't much time left before the operation began, and Berdan's malaise had been displaced by anticipatory glee. Boxer, on the other hand, was her usual self: meek and sleepy. The two of them had cleaned out the boat's arms locker, leaving the cockpit seats and floor strewn with firearms and the odd blade.

"One for me and one for you," Berdan recited, selecting a FAMAS and a G41 from the inventory. She passed the latter forward to Boxer and picked up a Mossberg Mariner. "One to repel boarders – " Shack-chack! " – and the shrimp gets her pick of the rest."

"The Stechkin, please." Canaan pointed to a large automatic pistol with a sound suppressor and wire stock lying beside it. "I'd better keep in theme."

"Now you're talking." Berdan tossed it to her, then picked up another suppressor and began screwing it onto her own muzzle. "Boss, you mind if I go over the plan one more time?"

"If you wish."

"Okay... Assuming nobody changed it behind my back, we'll drop the shrimp and her kayak on the way in, then head for the dock so the boss can gatecrash this gig. Boxer and I will anchor over by the sunken plane and see how it goes." She threw a pointed look at Canaan. "Do not make me break out the hockey stick... The shrimp gets onto the island, waits for the boss to lure out Duquesne and nails him, then the shrimp scrams while the boss covers our tracks. If shit doesn't get serious, we'll make our pickups and get out of the Exumas AFAP. Everyone got it?"

"We do," said Alphard smoothly.

"I hope so." Berdan began to collect the unclaimed weapons. "Norman's Cay has gone back thirty years since it was sold off. All it's missing now are Lehder and his cocaine crews... Be right back." With those words she climbed through the hatch and vanished from sight.

Alphard took a few moments to check on Boxer before joining Canaan at the stern. "Good luck."

"I don't need luck." Canaan slapped a magazine into the Stechkin and tucked it away. "Even yours."

"As you like." Alphard stood quietly for a minute, gazing at the stars. Her eyes were drawn, as they had been on many other nights, to the dim, winding constellation Hydra and the single bright star in it: the star with her own name.

"Canaan."

"Hm?"

"What color am I now?"

"...A better color than you used to be."

Canaan's synesthesia lit up the guards and dogs patrolling the shores of Norman's Cay better than any thermal vision technology. Her double-bladed paddle propelled her into a blind spot in their defenses with near-perfect silence. After dragging the kayak up into the trees, she melted into the foliage. It took maybe six minutes for her to evade the various security measures around the estate at which a number of leading figures in contemporary criminal enterprises were gathered, her target among them. She wasn't sure which of Henri Duquesne's diverse ventures had earned him the price on his head, though she suspected it was the diamond laundering. From her perspective, that wasn't important.

Once she had identified an ideal vantage point, she sat cross-legged and opened the case. She hadn't lost her touch nearly as much as she feared, and the buttstock and suppressor assemblies of the Vintorez were reunited with its receiver in no time. Topping the contraption with a bulky ex-Soviet night sight of late 1980s manufacture, she began her vigil in earnest. Several figures appeared on the veranda of the estate, tempting targets all, but Canaan held fire. She was being paid to kill only one of them tonight.

A few more minutes' patience rewarded her with first sight of Duquesne. Alphard had already sunk her claws into him, and he was entirely enthralled by her. There was a sharp contrast between the two, her looking graceful and exotic despite her scars, while he was rotund, balding and sweating buckets – quite possibly on account of a suit far heavier than one should wear in tropical climates. As Canaan observed, Alphard slowly yet inexorably drew her prey out towards the end of the veranda and away from potential witnesses.

Canaan snugged the stock against her cheek, adjusting for bullet drop and windage as Duquesne came to a standstill beside Alphard... And then, completely unwanted, the details of a certain conversation with her distant handler began to play in her head.

"The target is quite formidable this time."

"The target is..?"

"A woman with one arm."

"...Understood."

The scope's reticule drifted slightly to the right. Damn you! Canaan thought savagely, and pulled the trigger twice.