Lorentz Invariance Violation

In a Paris laboratory, light was made to flow around an obstacle the way water flows around a rock in a stream. But this water is special: it feels no friction.

Two dancers on the same stage mirror each other's moves even when a curtain separates them. In the quantum world, such pairs are called entangled, and physicists have spent half a century probing how far this connection reaches. Until now, all tests with massive particles concerned their internal properties, such as spin, but not their motion itself.

A proton or an atomic nucleus slams into Earth's atmosphere at tremendous speed, and a cascade of billions of particles is born. This extensive air shower races toward the surface, while sensitive telescopes catch its faint glow. From the shape of the glow, physicists determine how deep the shower penetrated the atmosphere and what it was made of.

A proton or an atomic nucleus slams into Earth's atmosphere at tremendous speed, and a cascade of billions of particles is born. This extensive air shower races toward the surface, while sensitive telescopes catch its faint glow. From the shape of the glow, physicists determine how deep the shower penetrated the atmosphere and what it was made of.

In 2017, detectors picked up a gravitational wave from the collision of two neutron stars. Just 1.7 seconds later, telescopes saw a flash of gamma-ray burst from the same spot. That tiny delay became a treasure for physicists.

General relativity, which describes the structure of the universe, does not forbid closed timelike curves. But Stephen Hawking put forward the 'chronology protection' conjecture: quantum effects should destroy such curves, making time travel to the past impossible.

A spinning top that makes a hundred turns per second suddenly starts losing speed dramatically — much faster than any known top. That's exactly what pulsar J0435+3233 is doing. It's a dead star, crushed to the size of a city, but whirling at a furious rate.

A laser is like a tuning fork that rings at a single note. But even in complete silence, its sound trembles slightly. Previously, it was thought that this tremor, random kicks from spontaneous emission of light by atoms inside the laser, was the main limit to precision.

In 2021, the LHAASO observatory registered gamma quanta with energies above a petaelectronvolt from sources like the Crab Nebula — a supernova remnant with a pulsating neutron star at its heart.

Inside planets and stars, in rotating oceans of plasma, turbulent flows, Coriolis forces, and magnetic tension collide. The central question is how the energy of this chaos crystallizes into a stable magnetic framework that can last billions of years.

Two dead stars circle in a final dance. Their approach creates ripples in space — gravitational waves. But there may be a third, invisible partner in this dance. Its gravity accelerates the pair, and the signal changes pitch slightly, like the siren of a passing car.

The river of time may not be a smooth flow but a sequence of minuscule steps, like a stop-motion film shot with an unimaginably fast camera. In 1964, Yu. A. Golfand suggested that time moves not continuously but in tiny jumps, and derived an equation that predicted an inevitable increase in disorder (entropy).

A string sounds perfectly pure until a draft touches it. That's roughly how a superradiant laser works: a beam of atoms, pre-charged with energy, flies through a room made of two mirrors — an optical resonator (a trap where light bounces back and forth).

Cosmology resembles a courtroom where two witnesses give irreconcilable testimonies. The first — the analysis of the cosmic microwave background by the Planck satellite — claims: the expansion of the universe proceeds at 67 (km/s)/Mpc.

Tea in a cup cools quietly on the table. But if you zoom past at near-light speed, the thermometer will read higher — even though no one heated the tea. Calculations confirm: the needle will creep up. A century ago, physicists split into three camps.

Drop a handful of sand into calm water — the ripples spread and fade. Drop it into a running blender — the vortices mix everything in an instant. Physics has a similar rule: chaos cannot grow faster than a certain rate.

Two beams of light race around a closed loop, heading toward each other. Since the speed of light is constant, when the ring turns, one beam has to catch up with a moving finish line, while the other meets it sooner. Their meeting creates a pattern, and from that pattern we can tell how fast the whole system is spinning.

The speed of light in a vacuum is physics' metronome: it sets the rhythm for all processes. If it falters, the familiar harmony collapses. Neutrinos, ubiquitous but almost intangible particles from space, can check if this rhythm ever stumbles under extreme conditions.

In a thin semiconductor channel, electrons behave not like lone runners but like a crowd at rush hour. They constantly bump into each other, and these collisions determine how easily heat and electric current pass through the material.

Two coins are flipped in different cities, but they always land the same way. Physicists call this entanglement: particles behave as if an invisible thread connects them. But what if the thread isn't instantaneous, just very fast — still not faster than light? Then some signal could slip between measurements, and the coincidences would be explained without any magic.

Light travels across a room, bouncing off mirrors and walls. The emptiness in between seems perfectly neutral: it doesn't hinder the beam or curve its path. But what if, at the deepest foundations of the world, emptiness is more complex? Physicists have long suspected that the symmetry of space might break at tiny scales, and then light would behave differently.

A compass needle points north, but what if space itself has a hidden axis? Physicists have used Earth's magnetic field to test whether the universe's structure is truly the same in all directions.

On a lab table sits an instrument that looks like a balance, but instead of pans it has two weights made of different metals — beryllium and aluminum. The balance is suspended from a thin fiber that twists if the weights are pulled differently. The whole apparatus turns to follow the Sun, like a sunflower tracking the light, but instead of light it catches the Sun's gravity.

The third law of black hole mechanics, proposed by Stephen Hawking, forbids a hole from spinning up to its limit in finite time — much like a whirlpool would need an eternity to reach absolute speed. Yet numerical simulations in five dimensions break this rule.

The diffusion equation, a mathematical tool describing how particles spread out in space, has long painted a paradoxical picture: a disturbance, like ripples on Water, instantly engulfs the entire universe. This challenged the theory of relativity, which holds that nothing can move faster than light.

According to the laws of physics, nothing can outrun light, otherwise for some observers the effect would occur before the cause. Artur Ekert and Andrzej Dragan showed that this situation creates an uncertainty resembling quantum indeterminacy.

Star S2 completes an orbit around the black hole at the Milky Way's center every 16 years, reaching speeds of 7650 kilometers per second. Its orbit is a stretched ellipse, and at its closest approach, the star comes within a distance 120 times the Earth-Sun separation.

Two giant black holes spiral together and collide — a ripple of spacetime spreads across the Universe. Detectors of gravitational waves catch this ripple. But the signal may hide more than just mass and distance: if the laws of physics differ ever so slightly in different directions, the wave will be distorted.

Quantum entanglement is a special connection between particles: they affect each other instantly, even across light-years. For a long time, it was believed that strong acceleration destroys this bond.

The ocean is like a layered cake: warm, light water on top, cold, heavy water below. Between the layers, at the interface, invisible waves roam. They don't lift crests like a storm; instead, they slowly rock the entire water column, as if someone were shaking a giant aquarium from within.

In October 2022, the LHAASO observatory measured the spectrum (energy distribution) of gamma-ray burst GRB 221009A — the brightest on record. Its light traveled for two billion years and was so intense that it disturbed the upper layers of Earth's atmosphere.

Fast radio bursts are brilliant cosmic flashes that, like a starting signal, set off a race of radio waves across the universe. Astronomers used them as a natural laboratory to test whether the photon, the quantum of light and the carrier particle of the electromagnetic interaction, has mass.

A single photon passes through two slits and leaves an interference pattern on a screen. Quantum mechanics describes this process with a wave function, but what happens to the particle itself?

On October 9, 2022, the cosmos put on a show unlike anything astronomers had seen in the history of observations. Gamma-ray burst GRB 221009A, the most powerful cosmic explosion that produces a flash of gamma radiation, blinded detectors in orbit and on Earth.

A ruler made of light: that's one way to describe a new method for measuring tiny time delays. In 1987, Chong Ki Hong, Zhe-Yu Ou, and Leonard Mandel noticed that when two indistinguishable photons hit a beam splitter simultaneously, they always exit together from the same port.

Two translators listen to the same symphony. One hears only the fundamental tone: a clean, predictable melody. The other catches the overtones that color every note.