x ray flash

A stroboscope in a dark room picks out fleeting shadows from the crowd, shadows the eye cannot catch. A primordial black hole the size of a virus, passing in front of a distant star, briefly magnifies its light for a few seconds, like a magnifying glass held over a bulb.

The XMM-Newton X-ray telescope stared at galaxy Mrk 1044 for two straight hours. Inside it, a black hole is surrounded by a swirling disk of superheated gas. This gas glows in X-rays, and its light flickers — brighter, then dimmer. For the first half hour, the flickering of soft and hard X-rays was in step.

For three days straight, a laser blasted a jet of gas, and every second it produced a beam of electrons with the energy of a tiny lightning bolt. Previously, such beams could only be produced in huge halls where the accelerator takes up an entire building. Now the whole setup fits in a room and ran without a glitch for 72 hours.

When a laser beam hits a gas, it tears electrons from atoms and accelerates them to nearly the speed of light. As these electrons fly through the plasma, they emit X-rays, like a glowing trail from a fast particle. In the new work, physicists made a single laser pulse create not one but two such trails in succession.

A sponge slowly watered from a watering can gets soaked all the way through. But if you dump the same bucket of water on it all at once, the middle gets wet while the edges stay almost dry. That's roughly how a material with nonlinear absorption behaves: the more intense the flux, the more it gets stuck at the point of impact.

On the surface of the Moon and asteroids, you can find pits smaller than a pinhead but with shiny, melted rims. Such marks are left by tiny meteorites, but the exact impact speed at which melting occurs remained unclear.

A shooter aims at a target, pulls the trigger, and hears two shots: one loud, one quiet. That's how the new setup works, except instead of bullets, there's an electron bunch, and instead of shots, there are two flashes of light. One flash is X-ray, the other is terahertz. They fly to the same point with perfect timing.

In July 1969, as Apollo 11 flew toward the Moon, astronauts noticed something unusual: brief flashes of light that appeared even with their eyes closed. At first, this was attributed to fatigue, but the flashes recurred in different crews. Gradually, it became clear: cosmic rays were to blame — tiny particles hurtling through space at tremendous speeds.

A black hole paired with a star works like a pump: it pulls gas from its companion, swirls it into a glowing disk, and occasionally ejects some of that matter in two narrow jets. In 2021, the system 4U 1543-475 put on such a show.

A camera flash that fires in a thousandth of a second doesn't heat the subject — unlike a regular flash that lasts a full second. A similar trick has been found in radiotherapy: when a radiation dose is delivered in milliseconds instead of minutes, healthy tissues suffer less. This is called the FLASH effect.

An ordinary microscope is powerless when you need to examine a single virus in detail. It's too small. But there's a tool that fires flashes billions of times brighter than sunlight — an X-ray free-electron laser. It's designed to 'photograph' a particle before the beam vaporizes it.

The universe is a vast orchestra playing the score of expansion. Galaxies race apart to the beat of inaudible music of dark energy. But here's the trouble: the conductor's baton held by Edwin Hubble, Adam Riess, and Vera Rubin sets two incompatible tempos.

A giant cauldron that barely smolders most of the time, but occasionally spits out showers of sparks. That is roughly how the supermassive black hole at the center of our galaxy — Sagittarius A*—behaves. It weighs four million times as much as the Sun and lies 26,000 light-years away.

The ionosphere at an altitude of 70 kilometers acts like a giant mirror for radio waves. Ground antennas constantly beam signals into it and listen for the reflection. When a solar flare occurs on the Sun, a stream of X-rays reaches Earth in 8 minutes and compresses the lower layer of the ionosphere.

A garden hose shoots a thin, powerful jet. If you sweep it across the yard, you can water the whole bed without flooding the path. That's roughly how the new approach to treating deep tumors works: instead of a broad radiation field, you take a narrow beam of electrons accelerated to nearly the speed of light and scan it across the tumor like a jet of water.

The black hole GRS 1915+105 usually hides behind a dense gas curtain: its X-ray emission is heavily absorbed on its way to us. But in April 2023, it suddenly flared: the X-ray flux jumped nearly tenfold.

Conventional X-ray fluorescence analysis works like a meticulous scribe: to learn the composition of a picture, it walks over every square centimeter and logs whether lead or copper is present. For a flat sheet, that's tolerable, but for a three-dimensional object, it's torture.

An ordinary camera flash lingers for hundredths of a second, but for atoms, that's an eternity. Inside molecules, electrons jump in attoseconds: billionths of a billionth of a second. To capture that, you need a light pulse shorter than the event itself. Physicists take an electron beam in a linear accelerator and compress it so that individual bunches become thinner than a hair — in time.

In 2017, the IceCube detector caught a neutrino from the distant galaxy TXS 0506+056. It was like hearing a phone ring from across the ocean: the signal came from where the most energetic particles in the Universe are born. At the same time as the neutrino, astronomers spotted a gamma-ray flare, and two to three years later, radio waves. Why was the radio late?

An MRI scanner is like a camera that photographs your insides, but very slowly. The patient has to lie still for several minutes while the heart keeps beating. If the person moves or the rhythm goes off, the image blurs. Doctors then have to repeat the scan, wasting time and nerves.

For 17 straight years, the Fermi space telescope recorded light from the distant galaxy 4C 76.03. Most of the time, it behaved quietly, like a night city with only a few lit windows. But in the observation archive, two brief moments stood out when the galaxy flared in gamma rays — the most energetic light in the universe.

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.

Two cities: one with neat, straight streets, the other with a tangle of alleys. If you send a powerful flood of water through both, in the first the water quickly drains away through channels, while in the second it swamps everything. That's roughly how tissues behave under ultrafast radiation therapy, known as FLASH.

At the centers of many galaxies lurk supermassive black holes. From time to time they 'scream' — unleashing powerful X-ray flares. Scientists have long puzzled over the nature of these 'quasi-periodic eruptions'.

A solar flare is like a short circuit in a giant neon sign. Inside the Sun, magnetic fields twist into loops, like rubber bands, and when they reconnect, energy bursts into space. Part of it goes into hard X-rays, produced by particles accelerated to nearly the speed of light.

Modern X-ray light sources are like an orchestra without a conductor: electrons in the beam fly every which way, and the radiation comes out blurry. The new idea is to make electrons line up in neat rows with a spacing of a few nanometers. Then the light they emit becomes coherent, like a laser beam.

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.

On December 31, 2023, the Sun unleashed a flare of the highest class — one that releases the energy of billions of atomic bombs in just a few minutes. Along with it, a huge prominence, a cloud of superheated gas, tore away from the surface and shot outward at nearly 3000 kilometers per second.

The Einstein Probe space telescope detected a celestial storm: after a short (0.4-second) gamma-ray burst — a cosmic lightning bolt — came a long roll of X-ray thunder. It lasted nearly 10 minutes. This is the first direct proof that such explosions leave a lingering X-ray afterglow.

Astronomers observed seven times how a black hole tears apart a passing star. They measured the flares with high precision in X-rays and noticed: the more energetic radiation always outpaced the soft by 500 seconds. It's like a sound echo in the mountains — first you hear the direct shout, then its reflection off a cliff.

Short, powerful bursts of radio static from deep space have long puzzled scientists. Their source is believed to be the ultra-dense cores of dead stars, where magnetic fields are unimaginably strong.

A fridge magnet holds on thanks to tiny internal arrows: each one like a miniature compass. If you hit the metal with an ultrashort flash of light, these arrows start to jitter chaotically, and magnetism melts away in a millionth of a billionth of a second. Previously, such 'melting' was too fast to observe.