In Titan's orbit, the Luna-3 station circled, like a patient spider over a web. Mira was fourteen years old and knew every corridor by the smell of grease. She repaired drones, laid cables, and dreamed of seeing the impossible. That night she saw a shadow that cut through Saturn's rings like a cracked note. An old emergency channel flicked on the console, long since muted. Three words appeared, deformed by the noise: "Don't come back here". Then silence filled the cabin with heavy, cold air. Mira moved her hand away from the alarm button as if it was steaming. Olek, a year older communications cadet, raised an eyebrow when she showed him. - A disturbance from the warehouse? - He asked, but his fingers were already dancing across the panel. The recording repeated itself, this time synchronised with the vibration of the shepherd's moon. The Ciernik-7 drone returned from its patrols by the rings, carrying a fine dusting of ice. Cracks had settled on the casing, forming a simple pattern of three arcs. Mira applied the scanner; the beacon signal and the scratches sounded identical. This was no coincidence, and they were the only ones who had seen it. It was nearing bedtime and the adults were just following the movement of the cargo. Mira slipped out onto the observation platform, where the glass sparkled with rays. A dark gap pulsed in the plane of the rings, like the shadow of a corridor. It should not exist; however, the simulation on the school tablet showed a different result. The corridor was a passage, a moving gate in ice and pollen. Its trajectory crossed the orbit of Luna-3 in thirteen minutes. The station was silent, and a sudden, impatient current could be felt in the cables. Mira pulled Olek into the service airlock, though her knees were trembling. - 'It's just a test,' she whispered, activating the hand-held microprobe launcher. The image stream sent flickering snow, grains of ice and a rhythmic pulse. Then angles appeared, too even for nature to have created. The probe approached the lump on which the station mark glowed. The sign stretched, broke through and formed the letters: M I R A. Before they could say anything, the whole deck rocked with a deep thump, and in the open channel someone whispered her name.