Zora's Aurora 3 - the Serengeti Exchange
Copyright© 2026 by Art Samms
Chapter 8
The final concert in Nairobi could have felt like damage control, but thankfully, it did not. It felt like victory.
The SkyDome Biodome pulsed with light—living walls of bioluminescent flora spiraling upward beneath its arched canopy. Thousands packed the tiers, the air vibrating with anticipation that had nothing to do with scandal and everything to do with celebration.
Three nights. Three sold-out shows. And for good measure, one dismantled bioengineering empire.
Delta stood at the side-stage console, immaculate as ever, though the faint shadows beneath her eyes had finally softened into something resembling relief.
“Full capacity,” she reported into comms. “No security flags. Media sentiment trending ninety-two percent positive.”
Zora adjusted her mic and grinned out at the crowd.
“Federation of East Africa,” she called, “you know how to throw a finale.”
The roar that answered her felt like a living thing.
Sophie hit the opening chord—clean, electric, triumphant. Natalia’s drums thundered in with unapologetic force. Brian came in with his keyboard accompaniment. Brax locked in seamlessly.
The music surged. The audience surged with it.
Tonight there were no hidden signals, no covert ops threaded beneath the melody. Just sound.
Midway through the second set, Brian crossed the stage during a keyboard break, leaning close to Natalia as she played. She looked up at him, grinning—open, unguarded.
He mouthed something. She rolled her eyes and kissed him anyway.
The crowd lost its collective mind.
Zora staggered theatrically backward.
“Oh no,” she groaned into her mic. “I already told you, Lovebirds—you’ll short out the amps.”
Brian shot her a look. Natalia only laughed harder.
A few songs later, Zora stepped forward again, hands raised for quiet.
“I would like to dedicate this next one,” she announced solemnly, “to two individuals whose commitment to nauseating public affection has inspired us all.”
Brian froze.
Natalia covered her face with one hand.
Zora beamed.
“To Sugarbeat and Thunderboy.”
The stadium exploded with laughter and cheers.
Brian pointed at her in mock outrage.
“You promised,” he shouted over the noise.
“I absolutely did not,” Zora replied sweetly.
Natalia leaned into her mic.
“For the record,” she said, smiling wickedly, “he picked the nicknames.”
The crowd roared louder.
They launched into the song—a soaring, defiant anthem that had become something of a signature since Luna. Brian and Natalia stood shoulder-to-shoulder this time, no hesitation, no awkwardness lingering from the past.
Choice, not chemistry.
The final chorus lifted the entire dome. Above them, projection arrays cast sweeping images of open savannas and wild horizons—subtle tribute to what had been saved.
When the last note rang out, the applause felt endless.
Zora bowed deeply.
“Thank you, Nairobi,” she said softly. “You were incredible.”
The afterparty occupied a rooftop terrace overlooking the glowing city. Music drifted lazily from portable speakers. Lantern lights strung overhead reflected off polished stone and glass. The skyline shimmered beyond.
Delta stood near the center of the gathering, a glass raised. She had changed into something softer—still structured, but less armor.
The band clustered around her. Sophie and Zora at her sides. Brian and Natalia practically fused together. Brax and Finn lingering close. Nigel holding a drink he had no intention of finishing.
Jennix stood nearby as well, radiant but relaxed.
Delta cleared her throat.
“I will keep this brief,” she said.
Nigel sighed theatrically. “Tragic.”
Delta ignored him.
“You solved a multinational bioengineering conspiracy,” she continued. “You protected endangered ecosystems. You exposed criminal networks. And you sold out every venue on three days’ notice.”
She paused.
“Your capacity for chaos is extraordinary.”
Zora bowed slightly.
“But,” Delta added, her tone softening, “your capacity for impact is greater.”
She lifted her glass higher.
“To the team.”
“To the team,” they echoed.
Glasses clinked.
From across the terrace, a familiar, impeccably straight posture approached.
Daniel Njoroge.
He was out of uniform tonight—dark tailored jacket, collar open at the throat. Still precise. Still composed. But undeniably off-duty.
Zora blinked.
“Well,” she murmured, “look who discovered leisure.”
Daniel inclined his head.
“I was persuaded,” he said evenly. “It seemed ... appropriate.”
Brian grinned. “You survived us.”
“Barely,” Daniel replied. The slightest hint of humor.
They made space for him in the circle.
Conversation flowed easier than it had days ago. Laughter rose in waves. Even Finn recounted his meat gravel discovery to Daniel, who listened with surprising patience.
At one point, as Daniel reached for a refill, Zora drifted casually behind him.
Natalia saw it first.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
Sophie closed her eyes briefly.
With impeccable subtlety, Zora slipped something into Daniel’s jacket pocket. She retreated before he turned.
Moments later, Daniel shifted slightly—feeling the object. He reached into his pocket. Then, he pulled out a small, bright yellow kazoo.
Silence fell for exactly one second.
Then the terrace erupted.
Daniel stared at the instrument in his hand. Zora clasped her hands behind her back, expression angelic.
“For emergencies,” she explained.
Daniel examined it with the gravity of someone evaluating contraband evidence.
Then—slowly—he looked up at her. Something shifted in his expression. And to everyone’s astonishment—he laughed.
It was brief. Low. But unmistakable.
The group froze in delighted shock.
“There,” Zora said triumphantly. “I knew you had it in you, Danny.”
He did not correct her. Instead, he held the kazoo thoughtfully.
“If I were to deploy this,” he said dryly, “would it constitute a violation of sound ordinances?”
“Only if you’re off-key,” Brian replied.
Daniel considered that. Then, with restrained dignity, he lifted the kazoo to his lips.
The sound that emerged was utterly ridiculous. The rooftop dissolved into helpless laughter.
Under lantern light and Nairobi’s shimmering skyline, the weight of the past days finally loosened. The hybrids were safe. The criminal had been captured. The mystery was solved. And for one perfect night—no one was on duty.
Delta suspected something the moment Sophie suggested she “come upstairs” without her datapad.
“I do not go anywhere without my datapad,” Delta replied automatically.
“Just five minutes,” Natalia coaxed gently.
Zora appeared at her elbow. “Trust fall, Delta.”
“I do not participate in trust falls.”
“Metaphorical trust fall.”
Delta narrowed her eyes. But she allowed herself to be escorted.
The rooftop elevator opened to night air warm and fragrant with distant rain. The skyline of Nairobi stretched wide and luminous, glass towers catching moonlight, green corridors threading between them like living veins. Soft lanterns lined the perimeter of the rooftop terrace.
A long table stood at the center, set with understated elegance—white linens, low floral arrangements of native blooms, candles shielded from the wind by curved glass cylinders. Not extravagant, but intentional.
Delta stopped.
“You scheduled an event without notifying me,” she said slowly.
Brian stepped forward, hands in his pockets, trying and failing to look casual.
“Technically,” he said, “we scheduled it because of you.”
Brax gestured toward the table with theatrical flourish. “Behold. Nourishment. That you did not arrange.”
Nigel held a chair out for her. “Your throne, General.”
Zora leaned against the railing, watching Delta’s reaction carefully.
“For once,” she said softly, “you’re not coordinating.”
Delta looked from one face to another. The flicker in her expression was almost imperceptible—but it was there.
“You orchestrated a rooftop dinner,” she said. “On less than twenty-four hours’ notice.”
Sophie allowed herself a small smile. “We’ve learned from the best.”
Delta inhaled slowly. The scent of jasmine drifted on the breeze. She stepped forward and allowed Nigel to seat her.
Dinner unfolded without agenda. No briefings. No contingency plans. Just conversation. Finn enthusiastically described the evolution of Nairobi’s street food scene. Brax debated acoustics in biodome venues with Brian. Natalia recounted a fan interaction that involved a handmade drumstick carved from recycled glass.
Delta just listened, watched, and occasionally corrected a factual inaccuracy out of habit—then stopped herself.
At one point, Zora raised her glass.
“I would like to acknowledge,” she began solemnly, “that none of us were arrested.”
Delta arched a brow.
“This time,” Zora amended.
Laughter rippled across the table.
Sophie reached beneath her chair.
“Which brings us,” she said, “to the actual reason we lured you up here without your datapad.”
Delta stiffened slightly.
Brian stood and moved behind her. Natalia dimmed the lanterns with a subtle tap to the control panel. The skyline brightened in contrast. Sophie activated a small holo-emitter at the center of the table. Light rose in soft blue arcs. A plaque formed midair—clean, elegant typography suspended within a subtle rotating frame of light.
For Surviving Us – Again.
Below it, a smaller line shimmered:
With precision, patience, and unreasonable endurance.
Delta went very still.
Finn cleared his throat.
“We were going to engrave it in metal,” he said. “But holographic seemed more future-proof.”
Nigel nodded gravely. “Also less heavy to transport internationally.”
Zora stepped closer.
“You hold everything together,” she said simply. “Even when we make that extremely difficult.”
Brian added quietly, “Especially then.”
Natalia leaned her elbows on the table, chin resting on folded hands.
“You never make it about yourself,” she said. “But you deserve the moment.”
The holographic plaque rotated slowly, reflecting in Delta’s eyes. For once, she did not immediately respond. Her throat moved slightly as she swallowed.
“This is ... unnecessary,” she began.
“Incorrect,” Sophie said gently.
Delta exhaled. The city lights blurred faintly before she blinked them back into focus.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.