mass range

Inside the Sun, reactions can produce light, almost undetectable particles called axions. One such reaction yields axions with an energy of 5.49 MeV, as if each one carried the energy of a tennis ball moving at 100 km/h. These particles pass freely through Earth, but occasionally they might collide with a xenon atom.

In the pitch darkness of a vacuum chamber, a tiny magnet floats. It touches no walls and loses almost no energy — an ideal sentinel, ready to catch the faintest nudge. Such a sentinel is exactly what you need for axion hunting. These particles are prime suspects in the case of the Universe's hidden mass, which we call dark matter.

The universe is permeated by invisible mass, dark matter, whose existence was first proposed by Fritz Zwicky in the 1930s, based on his observations of galaxies moving in clusters.

An ocean permeates all of space, yet remains invisible to us. This ocean is dark matter, and the waves on its surface are particles called axions. They are so light and elusive that they pass through Earth without noticing it. But if these waves crash against a shore made of a special material, they might leave a trace — a tiny electric current.

The story began with a puzzle: in the 1930s, Fritz Zwicky noticed that clusters of galaxies behave as if an enormous invisible mass is hidden within them. Half a century later, Vera Rubin confirmed that stars on the outskirts of galaxies rotate too fast to be held by visible matter alone.

Dark matter is an invisible substance that reveals itself only through gravitational effects: it bends the light of distant galaxies, much like an unseen window that alters the path of light rays.

In a dark room, a glass bead the size of a dust grain hangs on a laser beam. Beneath it are two mirrors: one aluminum, one silver. If axions (light, invisible particles that could make up the mysterious dark matter) whiz by, they exchange with the mirror atoms, and the bead shifts ever so slightly.

A magnifying glass focuses sunlight into a bright point. If the glass has a tiny flaw, the spot of light becomes distorted. Gravitational lensing works in a similar way: a massive galaxy bends light rays from a more distant source, creating an enlarged and sometimes distorted image.

Dark matter has eluded direct observation so far, even though its gravity holds galaxies together. One hypothesis: it’s made of axions — ultra-light particles predicted by theory.

Dark matter is invisible, but its gravity governs the motion of galaxies. What it's made of is a mystery. One idea: it consists of ultra-light particles akin to axions.

Conventional dark matter detectors are like a soccer goalkeeper waiting for a powerful shot while the ball barely rolls. The invisible particles filling our galaxy often move too slowly to be noticed by sensitive sensors.

In a noisy city, you try to hear a cricket. It's quiet, and cars are humming all around. To catch its chirp, you set up a sensitive microphone and hit the noise-cancellation button. That's roughly how physicists hunt for axions — hypothetical particles that could be the very dark matter holding galaxies together.

From 2016 to 2018, at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, protons collided at energies of 13 teraelectronvolts, as if two peas were accelerated to speeds where their impact spawns a whole swarm of new particles.

In the first few hundred million years after the Big Bang, the cosmos was like a noisy teen club: galaxies flared up, collided, and churned out stars by the hundreds.

At the Large Hadron Collider, protons collide at nearly the speed of light. Sometimes they don't smash apart but exchange photons — particles of light. These photons can produce a pair: one particle the detector sees, and another that flies off unnoticed.

The kaon is a long-lived particle by microcosm standards: it lives for billionths of a second before breaking apart into lighter particles. In the KOTO experiment in Japan, physicists catch the rarest variants of such decays. One of them is when a kaon transforms into two neutral pions plus another particle X, which immediately decays into two photons (particles of light).

Cosmic rays are not light but charged particles bombarding Earth from all directions. Most of them are protons (hydrogen nuclei), but heavier nuclei also show up: helium, nitrogen, iron.

Black holes aren't silent abysses, but nature's tuning forks. Their rapid spin, predicted by Roger Penrose, makes spacetime itself sing, producing a stream of the lightest particles — axions. These accumulate around the hole, like sound in a concert hall, and begin to oscillate in unison.

Deep in a Canadian mine, there's a barrel holding 3269 kilograms of liquid argon — a clear fluid that looks like very cold water. This barrel is the DEAP-3600 detector, and its job is to catch dark matter particles, which are thought to permeate the universe but barely interact with ordinary matter.

In deep cold, at a temperature just two degrees above absolute zero, a copper cavity the size of a saucepan listens to the silence of the universe.

Deep in the Italian Apennines, under a thick layer of rock, sits a crystal that catches every decay of radioactive americium. Americium emits gamma rays with an energy of 59.5 kiloelectronvolts, like a very sharp bell that always sounds the same.

In nuclear transitions of beryllium-8, helium-4, and carbon-12, physicists from the ATOMKI collaboration have been seeing extra events since 2020—as if, when an excited nucleus decays, something else is sometimes born besides the usual photons. The energy of this "something" is always the same: about 17 million electron-volts.

In the dark chamber of the detector, argon waits. When an invisible particle (say, a dark matter candidate) flies through, it gives the argon nucleus a gentle shove. The nucleus is knocked out of place, and charges are born around it. Exactly how many charges is no trivial question: physicists use that number to tell what kind of visitor dropped by.

In its infancy, the universe was a hot, plasma-like mixture of particles. Microseconds after the Big Bang, as it cooled, the temperature fluctuated slightly.

A metal resonator, chilled to near absolute zero, listens to the radio noise of the universe. Amid the chaos of thermal fluctuations and electronics, a faint peak might emerge — the trace of an axion, a particle that could make up dark matter.

Dark matter is like an invisible glue that holds galaxies together. It emits no light, but if its particles collide, gamma rays can flash. Scientists hunted for such flashes in dwarf galaxies — small stellar clusters with lots of dark matter and almost no ordinary matter.

A pot on the stove rings when the water boils. An empty copper cup can also "ring"—at radio frequencies — if a dark matter particle is born inside it. These particles are called axions, and according to one hypothesis, they fill the entire galaxy as an invisible cloud.

The electron is a tiny particle, but inside a crystal it behaves as if it had a different mass. Physicists call this the effective mass. To measure it, they make electrons run in circles in a magnetic field, like a speed skater on an ice rink who is kept from leaving the orbit.

Dark matter doesn't emit or reflect light, yet its gravity holds galaxies together. What it's made of is a mystery. One leading candidate is the axion, an ultra-light particle. Searching for axions is like listening for a very faint radio signal, but the receiver's own noise gets in the way.

Cosmic rays are like a downpour pelting from all sides. But when the wind blows, the droplets change direction. In the same way, a solar storm, a cloud of magnetized gas from the Sun, bends the paths of these particles that normally rain down on Earth evenly. Cosmic rays are invisible messengers from distant galaxies.

At the DESY lab, the ALPS II experiment was launched to hunt for axions — hypothetical ghost particles that might make up dark matter. This invisible mass acts like a skeleton, preventing galaxies from flying apart due to their spin.

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 century ago, magnetic observatories recorded only the slow breathing of Earth's core. Today, their data have become hunting grounds for particle physics. At the Eskdalemuir Observatory in northern England, fluctuations of the magnetic field are recorded every hundredth of a second.

Deep inside a cryostat, beneath layers of superconducting coils, lies a stack of hundreds of semiconductor layers. Each layer is just a few nanometers thick: gallium arsenide, then aluminum gallium arsenide. The electrons within these layers are confined to a plane, like ants on a sheet of paper.

The ARCADE2 radiometer on a high-altitude balloon detected an excess radio emission, while the ground-based EDGES experiment found an anomalously deep trough in the hydrogen spectrum at 21 cm. Both signals do not fit the standard cosmological model and point to an unknown source of soft photons.

At night over the Siberian taiga, a faint blue light sometimes flickers. It's not the aurora borealis but a cosmic-ray shower: a single particle from deep space slams into the atmosphere and shatters into millions of secondary particles. They race toward the ground in a broad front, like a ripple from a stone dropped into water, and make the air glow.

High above Antarctica, a balloon carried an instrument that caught electrons from space. These particles come from distant stellar explosions and other powerful events. The instrument measured their energy, like the force of an impact. And in one energy range, there were more impacts than calculations predicted.