Электроника и проектирование. Тесты и обзоры электронных средств, инструментов, оборудования
That was the pivot. The moment Xenia Canar stopped being a mechanic and started being a ghost.
The cycle was as predictable as orbital decay. At fourteen, she rebuilt the portside maneuvering thruster from scrap. Two days later, the starboard airlock spontaneously decompressed, sucking the chief engineer into the void. At sixteen, she wrote a patch for the navigation array that cut through the radiation interference of the Centauri rings. Within a week, the ship’s water recycler began outputting a thin, acidic brine. Her father, the navigation priest, was the one who found her crying in the crawlspace, surrounded by schematics.
It was a sleek, predatory ship, all black carbon and plasma lances. It slid out of the Centauri rings like a knife from a sheath. Jax, now old and brittle, screamed over the intercom: "All hands, battle stations! They’re slavers!"