The spinning  ruche . Bees on the  peigne . A dynamo, powering the  soleil  (for which they get a fat fee, every  jour  at midnight); an anti-compass defense system, whose flat and fluctuating magnetic fields tend send travelers running around and around, looking for the true north (mapping out their round path later, the travelers guess that they should look for North within, somewhere under the last rib... with this realization, an alert  porte  to the Hyperspace Toll Road opens, offering to take a credit card).     Il m'a dit qu'il y avait des démons dans le désert.