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In 2023, a group of researchers at Oak Ridge National Laboratory ran a simulation of a 61-qubit quantum circuit on the Theta supercomputer. Storing its state vector would have required 32 exabytes of memory, more than the total capacity of all hard drives on the planet. But thanks to data compression, they fit it into 768 terabytes.

In September 2024, the concert hall in Linz had more than just an orchestra on stage. Next to the musicians, a setup was generating pairs of entangled photons: a laser with a wavelength of 405 nm passed through a nonlinear crystal and split into two photons at 810 nm, which flew off to two measurement stations, Alice and Bob.

An orchestra tunes up before a concert. Each musician locks into the common rhythm, and order emerges in the hall. A quantum reservoir computer works in a similar way: qubits, like musicians, interact with each other, turning a chaotic signal into a predictable melody. Reservoir computing has been around for a while.

A quantum bit, or qubit, is like a coin spinning on a table, able to be both heads and tails at once. For the computer to know what came up, you have to stop the coin and look. Previously, this stopping was done with a delay: data was read out, taken to a regular computer for processing, and only then was the result known.

On a table lies a handful of round magnets. As long as no one touches them, they lie in disarray. But send a short current pulse through them, and each disk flips: the north pole swaps with the south. Neighboring disks push each other with their fields, like people in a crowded queue, and the whole handful arranges into a pattern that depends on which way the magnetic wind blew and how warm it is around.

Deep in the eye, in a thin layer of cells, a tiny molecular machine works. It captures light and turns it into a signal that the brain interprets as an image. But sometimes a typo occurs in the blueprints of this machine — a single letter of the genetic code changes, and a person is born blind.

At night, the brain doesn't switch off. Instead, it sorts through the day's events like a librarian arranging books on shelves. But where do those strange, sometimes nonsensical dream images come from? Many have assumed they're just random noise with no meaning. A new computer model shows that randomness doesn't hinder: it helps.

Ordinary materials break in silence. First, invisible struts inside them snap, and only then does a crack appear that you can see with your eyes. Engineers at Carnegie Mellon University have taught a material to 'talk' about such hidden damage. They 3D-printed a lattice resembling honeycomb but with a more intricate pattern.

A molecular amplifier is like a door latch: a weak signal opens the way for a strong one. In living cells, such amplifiers work constantly, but they almost always burn fuel. Can you amplify a signal without expending energy?

An orchestra where each musician plays their own part but hears only the neighbor. One wrong note, and a wave of errors rolls through the hall. That's how Ising machines work — special devices for solving problems where you need to find the best option among many.

A radio receiver picks up only one station because its resonant circuit is tuned to that station's frequency. Magnetic vortices in a new type of computing element work in much the same way.

Neurochips work differently from conventional computers, which are built according to the blueprints of von Neumann with separate memory and processor. At the core of these chips is a network of simple cells, similar to neurons, and, like water that evenly fills containers of any shape, they easily find a solution without unnecessary steps.

In boiling soup, molecules collide chaotically and react. But if you measure how their concentrations change, patterns emerge. This is how carbon chemical networks work — mixtures of molecules that spontaneously 'cook' information, turning each reaction into an elementary computation. Previously they were used only for modeling nature.

Chatting with living neurons is like tuning an old radio: it's not enough to find the right frequency: you've got to aim the antenna too.