
lines that fed both the fuel cells and the atmospheric system of the
cockpit. Occasionally, however, the pressure in the tanks dropped too
low, preventing the gas from moving into the feed lines and endangering
both the fuel cells and the crew. To prevent this, the heaters would
occasionally be switched on, boiling off some of the liquid and raising the
internal pressure to a safer level.
Beech and North American knew that the tanks the new ship needed
would have to be more than just insulated bottles. To handle contents as
temperamental as liquid oxygen, the spherical vessels would requ ire all
manner of safeguards, including fans, thermometers, pressure sensors,
and heaters, all of which would have to be immersed directly in the
supercold slush that the tanks were designed to hold, and all of which
would have to be powered by electricity.
Of course, immersing a heating element in a pressurized tank of
oxygen was, on its face, a risky business, and in order to minimize the
danger of fire or explosions, the heaters were supplied with thermostat
switches that would cut the power to the coils if the temperature in the
tank climbed too far. By most standards, that upper temperature limit
was not very high; 80 degrees was about as hot as the engineers ever
wanted their supercold tanks to get [derived requirement]. But in insulated
vessels in which the prevailing temperature was usually 420 degrees lower,
that was a considerable warm-up. When the heaters were switched on and
functioning nor mally, the thermostat switches remained closed — or
engaged — completing the heating system’s electrical circuit and allowing
it to continue operating. If the temperature in the tank rose above the 80-
degree mark, tw o tiny contacts on the thermostat would separate,
breaking the circuit and shutting the system down.
When North American first awarded the tank contract to Beech
Aircraft, the contractor told the subcontractor that the thermostat
switches — like most of the switches and systems aboard the ship —
should be made compatible with the spacecraft’s 28-volt power grid, and
Beech complied. This voltage, however, was not the only current the
spacecraft would ever be required to accept. During the weeks and
months preceding a launch, the ship spent much of its time connected to
launch-pad generators at Cape Canaveral, so that preflight equipment
test could be run [missed operational concept scenario]. The Cape’s
generators were dynamos compared to the service module’s puny fuel
cells, regularly churning out current at a full 65 volts.
North American eventually became concerned that such a relative
lightning bolt would cook the delicate heating system in the cryogenic
tanks before the ship ever left the pad, and decided to change its specs,
alerting Beech that it should scrap the original heater plans a nd replace
them with ones that could handle the higher launch pad voltage. Beech
noted the change and modified the entire heating system — or almost the
entire heating system. Inexplicably, the engineers neglected to change the
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