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did not fully understand, but they could not make a quantitative case. When they went to the Department of Defense to request high-resolution photographs of a part of the shuttle they thought was damaged, not only did NASA managers block outside assistance, but they apologized to DoD for contact outside “proper channels.” NASA administrators promised the violation of protocol would not happen again. The Columbia Accident Investigation Board concluded that NASA’s culture “emphasized chain of command, procedure, following the rules, and going by the book. While rules and procedures were essential for coordination, they had an unintended negative effect.” Once again, “allegiance to hierarchy and procedure” had ended in disaster. Again, lower ranking engineers had concerns they could not quantify; they stayed silent because “the requirement for data was stringent and inhibiting.”

The management and culture aspects of the Challenger and Columbia disasters were so eerily similar that the investigation board decreed that NASA was not functioning as “a learning organization.” In the absence of cultural cross-pressures, NASA had failed to learn, just like the subjects in Patil’s work who were placed in strongly congruent cultures.

There were, though, individuals in NASA who learned vital culture lessons, and when the time came, put them to use.

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• • •

In the spring of 2003, just two months after NASA lost the space shuttle Columbia, it had to decide whether to scrap a high-profile project that had been forty years and three-quarters of a billion dollars in the making. Gravity Probe B was a technological marvel designed for a direct test of Einstein’s general theory of relativity. It would be launched into space to measure how Earth’s mass and rotation warped the fabric of space-time, like a bowling ball twirling in a vat of honey. GP-B had the distinction of being the longest-running project in the history of NASA. That was not a compliment.

It was conceived one year after the founding of NASA itself. The launch was delayed numerous times for technical problems, and the project was nearly cancelled on three separate occasions. There were staff members at NASA who no longer thought its mission was possible, and funding had to be rescued repeatedly by a Stanford physicist with a knack for lobbying Congress.

The technological challenges were immense. The probe required the roundest objects ever manufactured—quartz gyroscope rotors the size of ping-pong balls and so perfectly spherical that if you blew them up to the size of Earth, the highest mountain peak would be eight feet tall. The gyroscopes had to be cooled to −450°F by liquid helium, and the probe required surgically delicate thrusters for precise maneuvering. The technology took twenty years in development before it was ready for a test flight.

Congressional eyes were on NASA. The agency could not afford to launch the probe and have a high-profile failure right after Columbia. But if the Gravity Probe B launch had to be delayed once more, it could be the last time. “There was a huge amount of pressure to get this thing flown,” Rex Geveden, the GP-B program manager, told me. Unfortunately, engineers preparing for the prelaunch flight readiness review found a problem.

The power supply to an electronics box was interfering with a critical scientific instrument. Thankfully, the box only had to work at the beginning of the mission, to get the gyroscopes spinning. It could then be turned off, so it was not a catastrophic issue. But it was unexpected. If there were other flaws that prevented the box from spinning up the gyroscopes to start the experiment, the mission would be a total waste.

The giant Thermos-like container holding the gyroscopes had already been filled with liquid helium, cooled, and sealed for launch. If the box needed inspection, parts that had taken three months to install would have to come off the probe; a launch delay would cost $10–$20 million. Some engineers felt there was more risk in removing and potentially damaging parts than in leaving it all alone. Stanford University was the prime contractor, and the Stanford team leader “was confident that we could succeed,” he said, “so I pushed hard that we should go ahead and fly.” NASA’s chief engineer and head scientist for Gravity Probe B also both pushed to launch. Plus, the probe had been moved to Vandenberg Air Force Base in California for launch, and a delay would increase the chance of GP-B sitting there when an earthquake struck. So: race, or don’t race?

The decision was in Geveden’s hands. “My God, I can’t even express