Since the horoscopes being offered were about the only things on Mars that didn't cost the tourists any money, the response was great. The recipient of a horoscope found a mimeographed folder which contained three pages describing the present positions of the planets, where to look for Earth in the sky, and what science hoped to learn the next time Mercury was in transit. The fourth page held the kicker. It said that while the tourist's luck would be better than average at most of the gambling houses, he would lose consistently if he played at Harvey's Club. Within two days the only people playing at Harvey's were the shills. The following day, the visitors to the observatory included Harvey. The gambler was welcomed with mingled respect for his money and contempt for his occupation. He was taken immediately to see Dr. Morton, who greeted him with a sly smile. Harvey's conversation was brief and to the point. "How much?" he asked waving a horoscope under Dr. Morton's nose. "Just a promise," said the scientist. Harvey said nothing but looked sullen. "You are on the Town Council," Morton continued. "Now, the next time the question of tourist entertainment is discussed, we want you to vote _against_ a fireworks display." He then explained how important plates had been ruined by skyrocket trails. Harvey listened with great interest, especially when Dr. Morton flatly stated that each casino, in turn, would get the same publicity in the horoscopes. "The Council members are all for the tourists," Harvey commented, "and you guys are supposed to be nuts, like all scientists. But I'll do like you say." He reached into his pocket. "Here's fifty bucks. Use it for a full page ad this time and do the Desert Sands Casino in your next horoscope. And say--before I go, can I look through the telescope? I never seemed to have the time before." * * * * * At weekly intervals, Dr. Morton "did" the Desert Sands; Frankland's Paradise; the Martian Gardens; and the Two Moons Club. From each owner he extracted the same promise--to vote against the fireworks at the Council meetings. The technique was settling down to a routine. Each victim came, made the promise, paid for the following week's ad, named the next casino, and was taken on a tour of the Observatory. Then disaster struck. It took the form of an interplanetary telegram from Harvard Observatory, their parent organization. It read: EARTH NEWSPAPERS CARRYING ACCOUNTS OF HOROSCOPES PUBLISHED BY YOUR ORGANIZATION VERY UNSCIENTIFIC MUST STOP AT ONCE FIND OTHER SOLUTION L K BELL DIRECTOR Dr. Morton was eating alone in the staff dining room when he noticed a familiar face beside him. "Harvey," he said. "Guess you've come down to gloat over our misfortune."