black hole neutrino source

A spinning top whirls so fast that the air around it starts to rotate in unison. A black hole behaves in much the same way: if it spins, it can transfer its energy to particles that happen to be nearby. This process is called superradiance: it's like an echo in the mountains, but instead of sound, new particles are born.

The cosmic detective story began with a quiet flash in the optical band. AT2019wzc slowly brightened and faded like a smoldering ember. But hidden inside was something more energetic — repeating soft X-ray bursts that astronomers call quasi-periodic eruptions. These eruptions last minutes to hours and repeat every few hours or days.

In the distant Cigar Galaxy, there is an unusual beacon. It doesn't shine in the usual sense: its rays are born in a scorching cloud around a black hole that is devouring matter from a companion star. Such objects are called ultraluminous X-ray sources. Their X-ray brilliance is so intense that it outshines entire galaxies. This cloud, the corona, is like a boiling cauldron.

At the centers of many galaxies lurk giant black holes. They are surrounded by dense clouds of hot plasma that emit a powerful X-ray glow.

In May 2020, the LIGO and Virgo detectors picked up a gravitational-wave burst known as GW200105. Among the many similar gravitational waves recorded, this one stood out for an oddity: the orbit of the colliding neutron star and black hole was not a perfect circle, but a stretched ellipse.

Dark matter remains the inaudible bass line of the cosmic symphony — it emits no light, but its gravitational pull shapes galaxies. Vera Rubin first caught this rhythm in the 1970s by observing the rotation of stars.

Erwin Schrödinger pondered how life maintains order despite the second law of thermodynamics. He could never have imagined that part of the answer lies hidden in the instability of giant stars.

A black hole is where the usual rules break down. At its center, according to classical physics, lurks a singularity: a point of infinite density where everything that falls in gets crushed. Quantum theory was supposed to soften this picture.

In 1933, Fritz Zwicky first spoke of an invisible mass holding galaxy clusters together. Decades later, Vera Rubin mapped galactic rotation, revealing the ghostly presence of dark matter. Today we know it pervades the cosmos, but its particle nature remains elusive.

When a massive star runs out of fuel, its core collapses, giving birth to a supernova and unleashing an all-penetrating shower of neutrinos.

In 2017, the Antarctic neutrino telescope IceCube detected a particle with an energy of about 290 TeV arriving from deep space.

In the first moments after the Big Bang, matter and antimatter were almost perfectly balanced. But something tipped the scales — otherwise everything would have annihilated into radiation, leaving the universe empty. One candidate for the role of "tipper" is the ultraheavy right-handed neutrino.

Nearly a decade and a half ago, the Fermi gamma-ray telescope spotted mysterious "bubbles" — giant plasma blobs, as if inflated by invisible lungs, towering tens of thousands of light-years from the Galactic center.

A fluffy ball of invisible web envelops a black hole. This web is dark matter, which doesn't shine but, through its weight, governs the motion of stars on the outskirts of galaxies. Astrophysicists have long seen such 'fluffy' clouds around cosmic objects and have mapped their profiles — how density falls from the center to the edge.

Deep in the Mediterranean Sea, where water presses down with the force of hundreds of atmospheres, a network of light-sensitive spheres waited for a rare guest. And it came — a neutrino that carried through the bulk of the Earth an energy comparable to the impact of a flying brick.

A laser hits a target of thin wires, and within tens of femtoseconds (billionths of a billionth of a second) knocks out a stream of protons. These protons fly into a converter made of lithium and deuterium, where neutrons are born.

Neutrinos are almost elusive particles: they zip through planets without noticing atoms. So every catch is a stroke of luck. Recently, the underwater detector KM3NeT snagged a neutrino with energy millions of times greater than Earth's most powerful accelerators can produce.

When a heavy atomic nucleus splits, it doesn't break into even halves. First, two fragments form that look like pears pressed together at their narrow ends. Then the junction begins to smooth out, like two droplets merging and the surface quickly leveling. In that brief moment, the surface moves inward, and particles inside the nucleus can bounce off it, like a ball off an oncoming wall.

The black hole MAXI J1810-222 behaves like a giant vacuum cleaner with a reverse valve: it pulls in matter, but some of it gets spat back out into space. This "backflow"—a stellar wind — had been spotted by astronomers before, but only as a blurry smudge in X-rays.

A dark matter detector is like a super-sensitive microphone listening for silence. It picks up tiny heat jolts, phonons, that occur when a particle grazes a crystal. But instead of silence, the instruments have been hearing noise for years: a slew of weak signals below a few hundred electronvolts.

When a star like the Sun runs out of hydrogen, it swells into a red giant, and helium piles up in its core. At some point, the helium ignites — in a few seconds, it releases as much energy as the star had radiated over thousands of years. This is a helium flash.

The binary system SS433 is known for its black hole stripping matter from a neighboring star. Some of the gas falls into the hole, while the rest is ejected in two narrow jets that wobble like a spinning top. These jets are visible in radio and X-rays.

Hidden in the heart of the Alps is the Large Hadron Collider. From time to time its detectors register sudden bursts — scientists call them UFOs (Unidentified Falling Objects). According to one theory, these are not equipment malfunctions at all, but traces of dark matter.

Astronomers nicknamed them 'little red dots' — distant galaxies where a giant black hole hides at the center, wrapped in a thick layer of hydrogen. This packaging isn't just camouflage; it's a natural cannon. The black hole sucks in matter, but some of it is spat back out in narrow jets.

At night, invisible bullets streak across the sky — cosmic rays. These are atomic nuclei accelerated to near-light speeds. The Galaxy's magnetic fields tangle their paths, making it hard to pinpoint where they were born.

Light from a distant source passing near a neutron star bends like a flashlight beam in a funhouse mirror. Astrophysicists ran a numerical experiment: they traced rays backward from the observer to the star and looked at what picture a telescope would see.

A new study confirms: shock waves in plasma around supermassive black holes at the cores of galaxies act like ocean swells, shoving protons to near-light speeds. Even a weak wave passes on a tenth of its energy, like a gentle surf launching a surfer into space.

In the first moments after the Big Bang, space boiled. A superheated substance permeating the world gave rise to giant bubbles of a new phase – much like a liquid produces vapor. Collisions of these bubbles accelerated particles to energies unimaginable in Earthly accelerators.

At the center of many galaxies lurks a black hole — an object predicted by solutions to the equations of Karl Schwarzschild. Around it stretches a scorching corona — a region of tenuous plasma heated to billions of degrees.

Cosmic rays are elementary particles carrying colossal energy that pierce the intergalactic void. When two such particles smash head-on, the energy density at the point of impact could be enough to collapse into a black hole the size of an atomic nucleus.

Gravitational waves from a neutron star merging with a black hole carry the imprint of the intricate dynamics of spacetime. To decode that imprint, physicists compute scattering amplitudes, the quantum probabilities that two bodies fly apart at a given angle.

In 2017, the LIGO and Virgo detectors caught gravitational waves from the merger of two neutron stars. A kilonova flared: a brilliant cosmic explosion thought to forge the heaviest elements in the periodic table. Gold in jewelry, platinum in catalysts, europium in smartphone screens: all of it, according to a beautiful legend, came to us from such catastrophes.