Field Trippin
Copyright© 2026 by Sci-FiTy1972
Chapter 7
Week 7 — The Pyramids
Giza Plateau
Great Sphinx of Giza
Day 1
They arrived into motion.
Not the quiet of Uluru. Not the order of Spain.
This was scale—human and otherwise—layered until the eye couldn’t decide where to rest.
Stone blocks moved through the air.
Not lifted. Not dragged.
Carried.
Massive shapes—smooth, geometric—floated inches above the ground, sliding into place with impossible precision. No ropes. No teams straining under weight. Just coordination.
And above it all, shapes in the sky.
Ships.
Not sleek. Not dramatic. Functional. Matte surfaces that drank light instead of reflecting it. They moved without sound, repositioning, hovering, waiting.
Eric stopped breathing.
“No,” he whispered. “No, that’s—”
Tyler put a hand out without looking. Not to stop him. Just to ground him.
The AirPods were useless.
Language here wasn’t for them.
They stood on the edge of a world at work.
The pyramids weren’t monuments yet.
They were infrastructure.
Day 2
They walked.
Not guided. Not noticed.
Workers passed through them like weather—focused, purposeful, unafraid. Priests moved differently, slower, attention split between ground and sky. Engineers—if that was the right word—watched alignment instead of labor.
The Sphinx was incomplete.
Its face was already there.
That unsettled Randy more than the ships.
“That thing knows something,” he said quietly.
No one laughed.
They watched as stone was shaped not by force, but by field—edges softened, corrected, perfected in midair. The Stargate stood nearby, unmistakable now that they knew what to look for.
Inactive.
Waiting.
“This is where it started,” Eric said. Not a question.
DeAndre felt it—not rhythm this time, but intent. The same pressure as Uluru, tuned differently. Focused outward instead of inward.
Tyler realized something then.
“We’re not meant to be here long.”
They all felt it.
This place wasn’t hostile.
It was busy.
Day 3
They didn’t sleep.
The sky never quite darkened—ships tracing slow arcs, lights shifting like constellations being written in real time. The pyramids rose another fraction by morning, angles locked in with surgical certainty.
The Stargate activated once.
Not fully.
A test.
Energy folded space inward without sound, the air compressing into geometry that made the eyes ache.
No one stepped through.
The system shut itself down.
Tyler felt the pull immediately—stronger than anywhere before.
“This isn’t for us,” he said.
No argument.
They gathered near the edge of the site, careful not to cast shadows where they didn’t belong.
Headcount.
Four.
The light shifted—not with the sun, but with alignment.
The world thinned.
As they stepped away, Tyler caught one last image:
The Sphinx’s eyes, unfinished, staring forward—not at the sky, not at the workers, but at time.
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