critical current

Tuning a radio receiver to a station that changes frequency as you cross a phase boundary: that is how you might picture the challenge facing the researchers. In the metal YbRh2Si2, electrons behave as "heavy" particles: their effective mass is hundreds of times that of a free electron.

A tiny black hole flies through a hydrogen cloud and stretches atoms like taffy. That is what a superconductor looks like when it traps a persistent current: a material in which electricity flows without losses turns into a miniature permanent magnet.

A superconducting detector usually works like an honest ruler: absorb a photon, get a pulse whose amplitude is strictly proportional to the energy. This mode is convenient, but it has a ceiling: a weak signal easily gets lost in the amplifier noise. Now imagine a swing.

A metal made of five different atoms is like a soup with bits of carrot, peas, potato, onion, and meat floating in it. Each bit is its own element: chromium, vanadium, titanium, niobium, and tantalum. Such an alloy is called high-entropy: there is no single order, and the atoms are mixed almost randomly.

In a narrow corridor, people walk in rows rather than as a crowd. The number of rows depends on the width of the passage. In graphene, this corridor is a quantum point contact — a constriction where electrons move ballistically without scattering.

An ordinary wire heats up when current flows through it — some energy is wasted. A superconductor lacks this flaw: electricity flows through it without loss, like water through a perfectly smooth pipe. The trouble is that most superconductors require either very low temperatures or colossal pressures, like those found in the depths of planets.

Inside an MRI magnet, current flows through a closed superconducting loop, like water circling in a bucket after you give it a spin, it just keeps going on its own. To change that current, you heat the loop with a small heater: it stops being superconducting, becomes an ordinary resistor, and then an external source can 'top up' or 'draw off' current.

A water pipe: the wider it is, the more water flows through. In superconducting contacts — Josephson junctions (bridges through which current flows without resistance)—it's usually the same: the better the material conducts in its normal state, the larger the superconducting current that flows through it.

A film sliver thinner than a human hair was placed between diamond anvils and squeezed. The pressure climbed — a hundred thousand atmospheres, half a million, a million… Yet the material kept conducting electricity without resistance.

A mountain pass connects two valleys. In one, the protein is folded; in the other, it is unfolded. To get from one to the other, you must cross the saddle — the highest point on the path. In protein science, this point is called the transition state, and the coordinate that shows the distance to it is the committor.

At low temperatures, many materials become superconductors — current flows without resistance. But how exactly does this happen if electrons were initially trapped in an insulator? Half a century ago, Philip Anderson suggested that the answer lies in a special quantum dance of particles.

Many materials behave like finicky ice: at one pressure they melt, at another they turn harder. Superconductors in the cuprate family are no exception. Their ability to carry current without loss depends on how tightly the crystal lattice is squeezed. In a new study, physicists traced this dependence for the compound Bi-2223.

Drop by drop from a faucet, or a steady stream without a single splash. That's roughly what the two regimes of current in a superconducting contact look like. Only here, the role of water is played by Cooper pairs — bound electrons that move without resistance.

One hundred milliseconds. In that time, after a lightning strike or a short circuit, the power system either returns to normal operation or loses stability. A new-generation Neural Network Oscillations learns to sense this moment, like an experienced tightrope walker anticipating a gust of wind.

An orchestra of billions of cesium atoms struck a single note, and it sounded for 17 hours without fading. That’s no exaggeration: Chinese physicists created a continuous time crystal with a record-breaking lifespan. A time crystal is a system that breaks time symmetry, spontaneously pulsating in an unchanging rhythm.

Superconductivity and magnetic field are age-old foes: the field barges in like a whirlwind, tearing apart the delicate pairing of Cooper pairs, destroying order.

In the crystal CsV3Sb5-xSnx, which becomes a superconductor at low temperatures, current does not flow as a uniform stream but along narrow, winding paths. A scanning microscope with a sensitive magnetic field sensor helped reveal these paths: it picks up the faintest currents, much like a sonar probes the seafloor.

Usually, superconductivity is a story about cold. The lower the temperature, the easier it is for electrons to pair up and flow without resistance. But in a new study, physicists grew thin films of nickelates doped with europium and saw the opposite picture.

A thin film of yttrium barium copper oxide warms under a stream of infrared light, and suddenly stops dissipating energy. That's superconductivity: electrons pair up and move as a single quantum swarm. But in underdoped samples, the harmony breaks long before the pairs fall apart. The pairs are there, but the collective rhythm isn't.

A rubber band that gets thicker the harder you pull it. In electricity, this behavior is called negative capacitance: the more charge accumulates on the plates, the lower the voltage. A regular capacitor works the opposite way — voltage rises with charge.

A tiny ball weighing a fraction of a milligram, suspended in a magnetic field and cooled to near absolute zero, oscillates for 110 hours without stopping: this is record isolation. The energy loss is so small that the system's entropy barely increases, making any external influence noticeable.

In familiar metals like copper, electrons move almost independently, like cars on an open highway. Resistance arises from rare collisions and can be described by simple formulas.

A superconductor does not let a magnetic field penetrate its interior. But if the field is strong enough, it does get in — not as a continuous flux, but as individual vortex filaments, like tiny tornadoes. Inside each filament, superconductivity is destroyed, and around it flows a persistent current.

Two superconducting banks are connected by a bridge of magnetic material. Inside the bridge lies a domain wall: a narrow boundary where the magnetization rotates, like a column of soldiers changing their marching direction.

A copper crystal is squeezed in diamond anvil cells. As pressure mounts, a battle unfolds inside the material between two states: one prepares electrons for superconductivity, the other hinders their pairing. Scientists tracked this struggle using ultrashort laser pulses.

Superconductivity is when electric current flows without losses, like water through a perfectly smooth pipe. It usually occurs at very low temperatures, but there are materials where it appears at higher ones.

Usually, current in a metal acts like boiling water on ice: it heats the material and destroys magnetic order. But in a layered structure of tungsten ditelluride and the ferromagnet Fe3GeTe2, current behaves differently.

Electric current in a superconductor is like a crowd running down a frictionless corridor. But in type-II superconductors there are obstacles, tiny vortices of magnetic field, that the current shoves out of place. Once a vortex moves, resistance appears and the current drops.

In a crystal made of europium, zinc, and phosphorus, electric current behaves like a car on a bumpy road. Electrons don't run freely but drag magnetic clouds, polarons, behind them.

A metal filament as thin as a hair grows through the ceramic like a root through asphalt. In solid-state batteries, such filaments are called dendrites, and they appear when the charging current exceeds a critical threshold. The ceramic electrolyte is solid but brittle, like glass.

Dark energy is usually seen as an innate property of the cosmos, at work from the very first moments. But a new model suggests it behaved like water on the verge of boiling: long unnoticed, then suddenly kicking in at a critical moment. This scenario is called 'late activation': around 5–7 billion years ago, a shift occurred, and the universe’s expansion began to accelerate.

A quantum computer is like an orchestra where every musician must hit their note without going flat. But superconducting qubits share a common ailment: random charges accumulate on their electrodes, and the 'note' drifts. Engineers call this charge offset drift, and usually battle it for years.

Superconductivity is the ability of a material to conduct electricity without losses. Ordinary wires heat up, and some energy is lost as heat, but a superconductor carries current with zero resistance.

A superconductor is a material that, when cooled sufficiently, conducts electricity without losses, like water flowing through a perfectly smooth pipe. But if you hit it with a brief flash of light, it quickly loses this property.

Certain materials, near absolute zero, superconduct: electricity flows without loss. The critical temperature starts this. John Bardeen and colleagues explained that atomic vibrations glue electrons into Cooper pairs.

Ordinary computer memory constantly uses energy to store ones and zeros. Superconductors, on the other hand, carry current with zero loss — if you could build memory from them, it would barely draw any power. The catch is that superconductors can't remember: their state changes too easily. Uranium ditelluride crystals turned out to be the exception.

An ordinary conductor carries current equally in both directions, like a door that swings both inward and outward. A diode, by contrast, is a door with a self-closing hinge: it opens easily one way but pushes back the other.

A metal bar made of five different metals (hafnium, niobium, scandium, titanium, and zirconium) sits in a furnace. After heating to 600 degrees, regions appear inside it that look like a pattern of two mixed metals, like marble veins.

Inside some materials, electric current flows with zero resistance. These are superconductors, and they only work when it's very cold. Copper oxides are special: they stay superconducting at somewhat higher temperatures, but why has been a puzzle for forty years.

An ordinary superconductor is like a squad of soldiers marching in pairs: electrons pair up, and their spins (internal 'tops') point in opposite directions. A magnetic field easily flips such pairs, destroying superconductivity. In UTe₂, things are different.