Уважаемые клиенты! После осуществления установки программного обеспечения следует этап активации лицензии.
Для этого необходимо заполнить форму ниже, получить ключи активации и активировать лицензионный ключ.
Как это сделать описано в Руководстве администратора.
They went home lighter. Rose Monroe winked at the moon and dissolved into the hush of midnight, leaving behind a ribbon of confetti that spelled a sentence in the sky: convene again.
The parade arrived at dusk, a slow, fragrant tide of petals and brass. At its center rode Rose Monroe—an improbable monarch wearing a crown braided from hibiscus and old keys. Her carriage was a bathtub painted sunset-red, pulled by three solemn parrots who hummed show tunes beneath their feathers.
A streetlamp winked and shivered; someone in the crowd found their long-forgotten courage tucked behind a lamppost and waved it like a flag. A stray dog, appointed marshal, sniffed the air and barked three cadences that made potholes fill with stars. As the parade wound down, Bunda Enorme deflated and offered its last jar—a single word: hello—handed to each passerby like pocket change.
Rose Monroe raised her hand, and from the crown’s keys spilled small tunes that opened doors on the sides of buildings. Out poured teaspoons and socks and the smell of violet shampoo. The crowd cheered when a door opened to reveal a tiny bakery that had never been built before, with a sign that read Best in a hand-lettered script only visible at twilight.
Behind them, a float drifted—banners stitched with a language that smelled of citrus and rain. On that float, a soft mountain of fabric rose and fell: Bunda Enorme, a living cushion of memory. People pressed their faces into its folds and squeezed out laughter like coins. Bunda’s seams held tiny glass jars, each containing a lost word. When the jars clinked, strangers remembered nicknames, prescriptions, a promise to call someone back.
| Функция | Сканер-ВС 7 Base | Сканер-ВС 7 Enterprise |
|---|---|---|
| Минимальное количество IP | C 1 IP | C 256 IP |
| Исследование сети | Да | Да |
| Пользовательские скрипты | Да | Да |
| Сетевая инвентаризация | Да | Да |
| Поиск уязвимостей | Да | Да |
| Подсистема отчётов | Да | Да |
| Сетевой подбор паролей | Да | Да |
| Описание пользовательских уязвимостей с помощью конструктора | Нет | Да |
| Создание и редактирование правил и шаблонов аудита конфигураций | Нет | Да |
| Импорт шаблонов аудита конфигураций для расширенной автоматизации и проверки настроек безопасности исследуемых активов | Нет | Да |
| Количество шаблонов аудита "из коробки" | 4 | 53 |
«Сканер-ВС» включает в себя набор модулей, позволяющих выполнять следующие задачи.
They went home lighter. Rose Monroe winked at the moon and dissolved into the hush of midnight, leaving behind a ribbon of confetti that spelled a sentence in the sky: convene again. assparade rose monroe bunda enorme quicando best
The parade arrived at dusk, a slow, fragrant tide of petals and brass. At its center rode Rose Monroe—an improbable monarch wearing a crown braided from hibiscus and old keys. Her carriage was a bathtub painted sunset-red, pulled by three solemn parrots who hummed show tunes beneath their feathers. They went home lighter
A streetlamp winked and shivered; someone in the crowd found their long-forgotten courage tucked behind a lamppost and waved it like a flag. A stray dog, appointed marshal, sniffed the air and barked three cadences that made potholes fill with stars. As the parade wound down, Bunda Enorme deflated and offered its last jar—a single word: hello—handed to each passerby like pocket change. At its center rode Rose Monroe—an improbable monarch
Rose Monroe raised her hand, and from the crown’s keys spilled small tunes that opened doors on the sides of buildings. Out poured teaspoons and socks and the smell of violet shampoo. The crowd cheered when a door opened to reveal a tiny bakery that had never been built before, with a sign that read Best in a hand-lettered script only visible at twilight.
Behind them, a float drifted—banners stitched with a language that smelled of citrus and rain. On that float, a soft mountain of fabric rose and fell: Bunda Enorme, a living cushion of memory. People pressed their faces into its folds and squeezed out laughter like coins. Bunda’s seams held tiny glass jars, each containing a lost word. When the jars clinked, strangers remembered nicknames, prescriptions, a promise to call someone back.