Zora's Aurora 3 - the Serengeti Exchange
Copyright© 2026 by Art Samms
Chapter 2
Delta did not sleep. At four a.m., the lights in her office were still on, holo-screens stacked in shimmering layers around her like a tactical command center.
Now, late the following afternoon, the main rehearsal space had been transformed into a staging zone. Equipment crates lined one wall. Open cases revealed neatly coiled cables, modular lighting rigs, compact amps selected for international travel. A holographic map of Nairobi rotated slowly in the center of the room, venue options blinking in competing colors.
Delta stood in front of it with a headset in one ear and three separate windows hovering at shoulder height.
“Yes, I understand it’s short notice,” she was saying crisply. “Yes, I understand that the KICC calendar is full. What I am suggesting is that you reconsider which private conference requires the amphitheater more urgently than a band whose lunar tour metrics spiked forty-three percent across East Africa.”
She paused.
“Exactly,” she said, and muted the line.
Another window pulsed. “Cargo transport confirmed,” she muttered. “Customs clearance pending. Finn, I need final weights on the percussion crates.”
Finn blinked at her from behind a stack of cases. “Already sent.”
“Resend.”
He did.
A third window chimed. “Media inquiry from Nairobi Arts Network,” Delta continued. “Sophie, draft me a statement emphasizing cultural collaboration, not crisis response.”
Sophie nodded from her perch on a rolling stool, fingers flying over her tablet.
Zora leaned against a road case, arms folded, watching Delta orchestrate what could only be described as logistical wizardry.
“You’re terrifying when you’re efficient,” Zora said.
Delta didn’t look up. “I am always efficient.”
“Terrifyingly.”
Within twenty minutes, three confirmations chimed in succession. Nairobi International Performance Hall: secured. Two additional mid-sized venues: confirmed. Preliminary press slots: booked.
Delta removed her headset slowly.
“We have three shows,” she said, voice level. “One large. Two intimate. Flights depart tomorrow night. Equipment ships separately under cultural exchange designation.”
Silence.
Then Finn let out a low whistle. “That was ... kind of phenomenal.”
Every head in the room turned toward Zora.
She slowly reached toward her jacket pocket.
Delta pointed at her without looking. “Don’t.”
Zora sighed and withdrew her hand. “Fine. But you walked right into that.”
Delta fixed her with a look. “You owe me dinner in Nairobi.”
“Done.”
Later, the equipment was mostly packed. Sophie had retreated to review DMI briefing files. Zora had vanished to “inspect atmospheric quality outside.”
Which left Finn, Brax, and Nigel clustered near the loading bay doors.
Brax leaned back against a crate, arms crossed. “So.”
“So,” Finn echoed.
They both stared at nothing in particular.
“Jennix,” Brax said finally.
Finn grimaced. “Yep.”
Another silence.
Nigel appeared from behind a lighting case as if summoned by awkwardness itself. “Ah,” he said brightly. “We’ve arrived at the Starlight Conundrum.”
Finn shot him a warning look. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Explore the psychological terrain?” Nigel clasped his hands behind his back. “You were, if memory serves, rather ... enthralled. The both of you.”
“That wasn’t—” Finn began.
“Artificial pheromones,” Brax muttered. “We know.”
Nigel’s eyes sparkled. “And yet, the heart remembers.”
“It was biochemical manipulation,” Finn insisted.
“Mm,” Nigel hummed. “Do you anticipate fainting upon eye contact?”
Finn glared at him. “I anticipate being normal, word nerd.”
“Define normal,” Nigel replied cheerfully.
Brax let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “This is going to be weird.”
“Undoubtedly,” Nigel agreed. “Which is why I intend to enjoy every second.”
Finn pointed at him. “You are the worst.”
Nigel bowed slightly. “I prefer ‘observationally gifted.’”
Across town, in a quieter neighborhood lined with autumn-tinted trees, Brian knelt on the living room rug while Aleigha demonstrated a robotics prototype that looked suspiciously like a spider.
“It can climb walls,” she announced proudly.
Brian blinked. “Should it?”
“Of course.”
Brice barreled in from the hallway, clutching a half-finished history project. “Dad, if you go to Africa, can you bring back something cool?”
Natalia—who both kids adored—sat cross-legged beside Brian. She smiled gently. “What qualifies as cool?”
Brice considered. “Not a rock.”
“Good parameters,” Brian said.
He exchanged a look with Natalia. The decision had already been made, but saying it aloud made it real.
“So,” Brian began, clearing his throat. “Sugarbeat and I are going to have to travel for a couple of weeks.”
Aleigha looked up sharply. “Far?”
“Nairobi,” Natalia said softly. “In the Federation of East Africa.”
Brice’s eyes widened. “That’s awesome.”
Aleigha narrowed hers. “During school?”
Brian shook his head. “You two are staying here. School’s important. Robotics week is non-negotiable.”
Aleigha pretended to consider. “True.”
“Miri’s going to stay with you,” Natalia added. “And we’ll call every day.”
Brice’s enthusiasm dimmed just slightly. “It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”
Brian hesitated.
Natalia reached over and squeezed his hand. “We’re careful,” she said. “And we have good friends with us.”
Brian pulled both kids into a hug, drawing them close. Aleigha resisted for approximately half a second before melting into it. Brice squeezed tight.
“I’ll bring you something cooler than a rock,” Brian promised.
Aleigha pulled back, studying him. “Just come back.”
He smiled. “Always.”
Natalia brushed a kiss against Aleigha’s temple. “We’re not going anywhere for long.”
There was no dramatic music. No looming threat. Just the quiet weight of departure in a warm living room.
Back at the rehearsal space that evening, as the last crate was sealed and Delta triple-checked manifests, Zora wandered in from outside, hands in her jacket pockets.
“Everything set?” she asked.
Delta nodded once. “Flights. Venues. Media narrative. Security coordination in progress.”
Zora surveyed the orderly stacks of gear. “You’re extraordinary.”
“I am tired,” Delta replied.
“That too.”
Sophie reentered the room, tablet tucked under her arm. “Agent Njoroge will meet us on arrival. Nathan emphasized ‘protocol.’”
Zora grinned faintly. “I love when people say that.”
Brian and Natalia arrived moments later, hands linked.
“All good?” Zora asked.
Brian nodded. “Kids are good.”
Natalia’s smile was soft but steady. “We talked to them. Both of us. They’re fine.”
Zora studied them for a beat, then nodded once. “Good.”
Outside, a cargo drone hummed overhead, crossing the twilight sky.
Delta checked her watch. “We leave tomorrow night.”
The room quieted. Restlessness had transformed into momentum.
Zora glanced around at her band—her friends—then toward the packed crates waiting to be loaded.
“Okay,” she said, energy sparking back to life. “Let’s go find something that isn’t beige.”
The descent into Nairobi began just after dawn. Zora pressed her forehead lightly to the shuttle window as the city rose to meet them—glass towers catching the sun, solar skins shimmering in copper and green. Skybridges arched between buildings like delicate ribs. Vertical gardens climbed entire façades, spilling vines and flowering canopies down toward tree-lined transit corridors. Beyond the skyline, the land opened wide and gold—rolling savanna stretching toward the faint haze in the direction of the distant Serengeti.
“Well,” Finn murmured from across the aisle, “that’s not beige.”
Natalia smiled softly, taking it in. “It’s beautiful.”
Sophie’s gaze tracked the infrastructure—clean transit grids, layered security perimeters, drone lanes clearly demarcated above the skyline. “Efficient,” she said approvingly.
Zora exhaled. “I take back every complaint I’ve made about oxygen.”
The shuttle banked, revealing the vast sweep of the city center—sleek, intentional, alive.
A new horizon indeed.
The arrival concourse was all polished stone and filtered light. Digital panels displayed the crest of the Federation—a stylized acacia tree encircled by stars. Travelers moved with brisk purpose beneath suspended gardens that draped from the high ceiling.
Delta immediately launched into manager mode, coordinating cargo confirmations and media pings. Finn and Brax shepherded instrument cases toward customs verification. Nigel paused to admire the architectural symmetry.
“Elegant restraint,” he declared.
Zora adjusted her jacket collar and scanned the crowd. “So, where’s our procedural overlord?”
“Agent Daniel Njoroge,” Sophie corrected.
“Yes. Danny.”
“Do not,” Sophie said.
“Too late. I’ve already decided that he’s Danny.”
They spotted him before Sophie could reply.
He stood near the security checkpoint with immaculate stillness, uniform pressed to razor perfection. Deep navy fabric. Federation insignia on one shoulder. A polished badge pinned at the chest caught the morning light with precise brilliance.
He was tall, composed, posture so straight it seemed engineered. His expression was neutral—not cold, but calibrated.
He stepped forward the moment he saw them.
“Ms. Zephyr. Ms. Klimova.”
His voice was even, measured, each syllable deliberate.
Zora extended a hand first. “Agent Njoroge.”
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