Zora's Aurora 3 - the Serengeti Exchange
Copyright© 2026 by Art Samms
Chapter 7
For three heartbeats after the data flooded the screens, the hall was silent.
Then the world broke.
Voices rose in overlapping waves—outrage, denial, frantic demands for clarification. Press drones surged forward like a metallic swarm. Investors backed away from the central platform as if the polished floor had turned unstable beneath them.
Maxim Vorenko did not shout. He simply pivoted, and tapped something beneath the pedestal. The suspended lattice spasmed with light.
Sophie’s breath caught. “He’s triggering a failsafe.”
On the projection screens, the hybrid creatures flickered—then the illusion peeled away entirely. Panels along the far wall slid open with mechanical precision.
Gasps turned to screams.
Behind reinforced glass enclosures, the actual hybrids stood—sleek bodies coiled, luminous markings tracing their musculature. Lion structure blended with leopard fluidity. Too graceful. Too focused. Too aware.
The sudden spike of noise rippled through them. One struck the enclosure barrier. The impact reverberated like a drumbeat.
Natalia froze on stage. “Oh no.”
“They’re stress-reactive,” Sophie said. “Elevated cortisol response.”
Below them, Daniel did not move quickly. He moved deliberately. His voice cut through the chaos via venue-wide override.
“Remain calm. Do not approach the enclosures. Federation Wildlife Authority has control of the situation.”
Control. The word felt aspirational.
Another hybrid lunged, claws raking reinforced glass. Not breaking it—but testing.
A security operative reached for his weapon instinctively.
Daniel’s voice sharpened. “Non-lethal only. Execute tranquilization grid.”
Across the hall’s upper perimeter, concealed panels snapped open. Specialized dart launchers deployed with quiet precision.
Zora grabbed her mic again.
“Everybody stay where you are!” she called, voice ringing clear and commanding. “No sudden moves!”
Sophie shifted into a low, steady chord progression—deep and rhythmic, not for performance now but for atmosphere. Natalia followed, tapping a slow, heartbeat tempo. The music threaded through the chaos like a stabilizing pulse.
“Good,” Sophie muttered. “Keep that frequency. Lower amplitude.”
The hybrids paced inside their enclosures, luminous markings pulsing faster in sync with their agitation.
Vorenko attempted to slip toward a side corridor. He didn’t get far. Two Federation officers intercepted him with efficient calm.
“This is a gross overreach,” he hissed.
Daniel approached him, posture immaculate even amid the noise.
“You activated a live control demonstration,” Daniel said evenly. “In a public venue.”
“You forced my hand.”
“No,” Daniel replied. “You revealed it.”
A hybrid roared—a sound that vibrated through bone. One enclosure panel sparked as internal systems overloaded from the panic surge.
Sophie’s hands flew across her interface.
“They’re receiving fragmented recall commands,” she said. “Residual loop from the lattice.”
“Can you sever it?” Delta asked.
“Trying.”
Above, dart launchers fired in coordinated sequence, producing soft thuds. One hybrid staggered mid-pace, confusion overtaking agitation. Another swiped again at the barrier—then slowed, movements turning syrup-thick.
Natalia’s drumming softened instinctively.
“It’s working,” she whispered.
A third hybrid reared back, luminous markings flaring in erratic pulses.
Daniel spoke rapidly into his comm.
“Adjust dosage for enclosure three. Increase by point-two.”
A second dart struck. The creature swayed—then lowered itself heavily to the floor.
The hall’s screams tapered into stunned murmurs. Press drones continued recording everything.
Sophie finally slammed a virtual key.
“Signal severed,” she said. “The recall loop is dead.”
The lattice above flickered weakly and dimmed, its elegant artistry now a hollow scaffold. One by one, the hybrids succumbed to sedation—breathing deep and even, sleek forms settling into stillness.
Silence reclaimed the hall in fragments. Glass reflected shaken faces. Investors stared at the enclosures not with admiration now—but with dawning horror.
Daniel turned to a senior wildlife officer.
“Secure transport immediately,” he said. “Level-three containment. Veterinary teams on standby.”
“Yes, Agent.”
Behind him, Vorenko’s composure had finally fractured.
“You have no idea what you’re dismantling,” he said coldly.
Daniel met his gaze without heat.
“I know exactly.”
Onstage, Zora lowered her microphone slowly. The final chord from Sophie’s guitar faded into the cavernous space.
Natalia exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.
Jennix stood near the edge of the central platform, staring at the tranquilized creatures.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered. “And they never chose this.”
Zora stepped down beside her.
“No,” she said softly. “But at least they’re not being sold tonight.”
Across the hall, Federation officers escorted Vorenko toward a secured exit. Camera flashes followed him relentlessly.
Daniel paused before leaving, looking up toward the stage.
His gaze met Zora’s. A subtle nod. No theatrics. Just confirmation. The illusion had shattered under glass. And now, the predators would not leave in cages bound for private empires.
The hall was still echoing with aftermath when the first alert hit Delta’s console.
“Movement on the south landing platform,” she snapped into comms. “Unscheduled skycraft ignition.”
Daniel turned sharply toward the exterior exits.
“Contain him,” he ordered. But it was too late.
Through the fractured transparency of Nairobi Glass Hall’s upper panels, a sleek black skycraft lifted from a concealed pad behind the structure. Its hull reflected the city lights of Nairobi in jagged streaks.
Vorenko. He’d gotten away.
“Of course he has a dramatic exit,” Zora muttered.
The craft rose fast—vertical thrusters flaring bright white. Daniel was already moving, barking orders into his comm.
“Intercept grid delta-seven. Air unit scramble. Authorization code Kilo-Red.”
Federation patrol craft began lifting from surrounding rooftops—but Vorenko’s ship had a head start.
“He’s accelerating toward restricted airspace,” Sophie said, scanning telemetry. “Propulsion stabilizers are high-performance—custom build.”
Zora grabbed Brian’s arm.
“Where’s the portable array?”
Brian blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Natalia was already unhooking a compact sonic rig from the backstage equipment stack—a directional acoustic cannon originally meant for large-scale outdoor performances.
“We tuned it for open-air festivals,” she said. “Not airborne fugitives.”
Zora’s evil grin flashed. “Then let’s improvise.”
They sprinted through a side access corridor, emerging onto the upper exterior balcony of the Glass Hall. Wind whipped hard at that height, tugging at hair and clothing. Above them, Vorenko’s craft banked sharply, engines screaming as it climbed.
Daniel’s voice crackled in Zora’s ear.
“Do not engage aerially. My units will handle it.”
“Respectfully,” Zora replied, bracing the sonic rig against the balcony rail, “your units are thirty seconds behind.”
“That is sufficient.”
“Not if he clears the perimeter.”
Natalia planted her feet beside Zora, hands steady on the stabilizer grips.
“Angle?” she asked.
“Left thruster cluster,” Sophie’s voice fed into their comms. “Target propulsion stabilizers—not main engine. You want disruption, not explosion.”
“Copy,” Natalia said.
Below, sirens wailed as ground units sealed off surrounding blocks. The skycraft tilted, preparing to surge forward.
Zora adjusted the frequency dial, eyes narrowing.
“Remember Serengeti?” she said to Natalia.
Natalia’s expression sharpened. “Resonant harmonic.”
“Exactly.”
They counted silently. Three. Two.
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