gas cloud

The night sky in neutrino light resembles a canvas worked on by two hands. One holds a broad, soft brush: these are supernova remnants, the shells left behind after stellar explosions. The other grips a fine, hard pen — microquasars, binary systems where a black hole twists matter into narrow jets.

The five-hundred-meter FAST radio telescope picked up a signal at the 21-centimeter wavelength — the telltale glow of cold hydrogen. The signal came from a cloud named Cloud-9. It hangs in space near the galaxy M94, but it contains not a single star.

A bright lantern in thick fog seems dim, while a weak flame in clear air can be seen a kilometer away. A similar oddity baffled astrophysicists almost half a century ago.

Jupiter's atmosphere resembles a layered cake, where each layer plays its role. Scientists took data from four instruments at once (VLT/MUSE, Cassini/VIMS, IRTF/SpeX, and Juno/JIRAM) and built a model of clouds and ammonia in the planet's equatorial zone, from 0.1 to 10 bar (pressure equivalent to hundreds of kilometers below Earth's…

295 000 meters per second. Not even particles in solar coronal ejecta move that fast. But at the center of the galaxy cluster H1821+643, hot gas does exactly that. The quasar at its heart takes a breath, and its breath stirs everything around for 60 thousand light-years.

In the deep field of JWST, among thousands of galaxies, astronomers zoomed in on the source JADES-GS 209777 – and saw a cosmic chick. Its "shell" is a thick cocoon of gas and cosmic dust that long hid the growing black hole at its center. But at a redshift of 3,711 (1,8 billion years after the Big Bang), the shell began to crack.

The temperature at the center of a galaxy cluster reaches a hundred million degrees. These largest gravitationally bound systems are natural laboratories where nature hides 85% of its mass in invisible dark matter.

In 2024, the team led by David Charbonneau pointed the Magellan telescope with the WINERED spectrograph at LHS 1140. During transit, high-resolution spectroscopy caught the absorption line of metastable helium at 10833 Å.

At the heart of massive galaxies, monstrous gravitational 'cocoons' brew — black holes with billions of solar masses, shrouded in a dense veil of gas and dust. But any metamorphosis requires breaking the shell.

Massive gas outflows from active galactic nuclei are a key regulator of galactic evolution. They sweep out the interstellar medium, quench star formation, and dictate the growth of supermassive black holes.

A world where a year lasts just one and a half Earth days, and the star in its sky is hundreds of times larger than our Sun. This is KELT-9 b — a gas giant heated to temperatures at which iron vaporizes. Its atmosphere is not just hot; it is literally boiling away into space, like steam rising from a giant cauldron.

In 1963, Maarten Schmidt unraveled the nature of quasars — distant active nuclei outshining entire galaxies. Since then, we've learned that at their hearts lurk supermassive black holes, converting infalling matter into blinding light.

The young super-Jupiter TWA5B, a scorching ball 25 times Jupiter's mass, floats just fifty light-years away. Its faint infrared glow long hid its chemical makeup. Now, high-resolution spectroscopy with CRIRES+ has registered the ghostly trace of SiO — silicon monoxide.

In an orchestra, each musician plays their own part, but at a certain moment all instruments pause on a single note. Cosmic rays behave somewhat like this — particles flying toward us from distant stars.

Inside the proton, life is boiling. Quarks don't just sit there: they're glued together by carrier particles called gluons (from the word glue). Usually, this glue is spread evenly, like butter on a skillet. But when energies become enormous, gluons start clumping together. This is the gluon condensate — an ultra-dense state of the gluon field.

River water often swirls into funnels. But in semiconductors, the foundation of microchips, electrons at low temperatures and high purity also turn into a fluid. If you create a circular cavity, vortices appear, just like in a river backwater.

A translator gets distracted by every rustle in the hall, and a one-hour meeting stretches into two. Gluons, the particles that carry the strong force inside protons, behave much the same way. Usually, they dart back and forth, holding quarks together.

A giant cauldron of simmering soup stretches across millions of light-years. This is the atmosphere of the Perseus galaxy cluster — a cloud of scorching gas held together by gravity. Until recently, astronomers thought that in the center of this cauldron, the gas was calmly cooling, ready to condense into new stars.

In a protoplanetary disk, a cloud of gas and dust around a young star, dust grains don't just fly in circles. They are carried by the gas flow, like sand by the wind, and in turn alter that flow. Layers emerge, sliding past each other, and at their boundaries an instability arises — waves and vortices.

Astronomers are trying to capture the radio echo of the Big Bang — a faint glow that fills the entire universe. But the receiver is choking with noise: our Galaxy is packed with glowing interstellar dust, whose emission can easily be mistaken for a signal from the distant past.

Gas is nearly invisible, but it has a temperature, and you can read it from how the gas 'shadows' the thermal background. In the experiment, a camera looks at a warm screen through a jet of carbon dioxide. If the gas is cooler than the background, it appears as a dark spot; if warmer, it appears bright.

If a supermassive black hole lives at the center of a galaxy, it heats the infalling gas to incredible temperatures. That gas glows, and we see it as a quasar — the brightest beacon in the universe. But how do you measure the size of the light source itself?

A distant galaxy, similar to our Milky Way, is blowing gas into space like a hair dryer blowing dust off a table. Seven beams of light from an even more distant object pierced this gas cloud, and astronomers saw that the gas flow is narrow, like a jet from a hose, not wide like a fan.

In a blazing foundry, any ice cube would vanish instantly. But tucked inside a thick mitten, it survives. Nature pulled a similar trick in the planetary nebula NGC 6302.

In December 2024, quasar PG 1211+143 found itself in the crosshairs of two X-ray observatories at once: the spectrometers on XRISM and XMM-Newton observed it simultaneously. A quasar is the extremely bright core of a distant galaxy, where a supermassive black hole is accreting surrounding gas.

In the dark cloud G318.049+00.086, where no star has yet formed, dust and gas have arranged themselves into four long filaments. They converge into a dense central hub, like four rivers emptying into a lake. Gas flows along these filaments toward the center: the flow speed reaches 10–20 kilometers per second per parsec of length.

In the dense Virgo galaxy cluster, astronomers have spotted six strange clouds of neutral hydrogen — gas that emits no light and is therefore invisible to ordinary telescopes. Radio telescopes can pick it up, but where it came from was unclear.

A quasar is a supermassive black hole at the center of a galaxy that devours matter and shines brighter than all the stars around it. Some of that energy goes into radio emission, which, it was thought, could heat or expel cold gas — the raw material for new stars.

In the dense, star-forming gas cloud W44, the ALMA telescope has spotted eight tiny clumps racing at enormous speeds. In position–velocity maps, each one looks like the letter V, just like the previously discovered 'Bullet'. This resemblance hints at a common origin.

Twenty years ago, an X-ray image of the Arches cluster resembled a photo of a person in thick fog: the cluster itself was drowned in the glow of a neighboring cloud. The cloud acted like a mirror, reflecting hard radiation from the vicinity of the black hole, and that reflection swamped the faint signal from the stars.

As it travels through the Galaxy, the Solar System occasionally dives into thick interstellar clouds — clumps of tenuous hydrogen and dust.

Fresh after the Big Bang, the Universe fizzed like a freshly poured soda. All of space was filled with bubbles — regions of new vacuum, the kind governed by the Standard Model, pushing out the old unstable state. The walls of these bubbles accelerated to near light speed, and in head-on collisions they crumpled and burst, unleashing monstrous energy.