the day after a particularly noisy, glaring fireworks display, the top brass at the observatory called an emergency meeting. the topic was not a new one, but fresh evidence, in the form of several still-wet photographic plates, showing out-of-focus skyrocket trails and a galaxy of first-magnitude aerial cracker explosions was presented.

"i maintain they fire them in our direction on purpose," one scientist declared.

this was considered to be correct because the other directions around town were oil refineries and the homes of the casino owners.

"why don't we just move the observatory way out in the desert?" a technician demanded. "it wouldn't be much of a job."

"it would be a tremendous job," said dr. morton, the physicist. "if not for the glare of city lights on earth, we wouldn't have had to move our telescopes to the moon. if not for the gravel falling out of the sky on the moon, making it necessary to resurface the reflectors every week, we wouldn't have had to move to mars. viewing conditions here are just about perfect—except for the immense cost of transporting the equipment, building materials, workmen, and paying us triple time for working so far from home. why, did you ever figure the cost of a single photographic plate? what with salaries, freight to and from earth, maintenance and all the rest, it's enormous!"

"then why don't we cut down the cost of ruined exposures," asked the technician, "by moving the observatory away from town?"

"because," dr. morton explained, "we'd have to bring in crews to tear the place down, other crews to move it, still more crews to rebuild it. not to mention unavoidable breakage and replacement, which involve more freight from earth. at $7.97 per pound dead-weight ... well, you figure it out."

"so we can't move and we can't afford ruined thousand-dollar plates," said the scientist who had considered himself a target for the fireworks. "then what's the answer?"