"Dwarf planet" sounds fine to me.

Astronomers met yesterday behind closed doors reworking a deal on Pluto’s fate, which will be decided on Thursday by a general vote at the International Astronomical Union’s meeting. The interplanetary politics have been vicious since the announcement last week of a proposal to keep calling Pluto a planet while also placing it in a new category of distant planets called plutons.

The first casualty looks like the term “pluton,” which was denounced by European astronomers (because it’s the same as Pluto’s name in Italian, Spanish and other languages) as well as by geologists (who called dibs on it because it’s their term for a form of igneous rock). The authors of the proposal are now considering switching to something like “plutoids” or “plutonoids.”

The great diplomatic question, of course, is why a measly iceball like Pluto should be called any kind of planet. One reason, as explained by an astronomer negotiating the deal, is that “there could be a public-relations disaster if we just throw out Pluto, especially if we don’t even give it a tip of the hat.”

A more scientific reason, as explained by another negotiator, Richard Binzel of M.I.T., is that astronomers are seeking a generic definition of a planet anywhere in the universe without setting an arbitrary limit on size. “We’d rather define some physical principle and let nature decide what is and isn’t a planet,” he said yesterday.

But it’s hard to come up with a simple definition that applies only to the eight major planets and not to pipsqueaks like Pluto — and maybe dozens or even hundreds of other small round objects orbiting the sun. Who wants to memorize all those new planets?

In their initial proposal, the astronomers tried maintaining some sense of order by labeling the Big Eight as “classical planets.” Now, in an effort to win skeptics’ votes on Thursday, they’re suggesting that the distinction could be sharpened by referring to Pluto and the others as “dwarf planets.”

That’s an improvement, but I’d go further. Stop calling Pluto any kind of a planet. Give it a new label: planetino.

Plutophiles will argue that it deserves to remain a planet just for tradition’s sake. But that tradition is less than a century old. If you’re serious about maintaining cultural tradition, you need to take the long view and consider how the planets were originally categorized by the Romans. You have to ask: What would Jupiter do?

The planets were named after gods who did not believe in placidly preserving the status quo for tradition’s sake. They were compelling figures — and imbued their namesake planets with charisma — precisely because they couldn’t be kept still.

The Roman and Greek gods were forever fighting for status, turf and mates. Their own relatives weren’t safe: Uranus imprisoned his children inside the Earth and was consequently castrated by one of his sons. There was no guaranteed tenure on Olympus. Rebels and misfits were subject to torture and exile.

Jupiter, who routinely threw thunderbolt tantrums, would have had no patience with Pluto’s astronomical treachery. When it was admitted to the planetary pantheon, it was supposed to be a major player: larger than Mars and Venus and even Gaia (Earth). But now it turns out to be an impostor smaller than the Moon with a weird orbit that occasionally takes it inside Neptune’s, not an insult to be taken lightly by the god of the sea.

The expulsion of Pluto would make for a fine new bit of mythological lore. Schoolchildren might feel sorry for Pluto at first, but as they reached adolescence, they’d appreciate his outlaw cachet. He’d be the leader of a disaffected rebel gang — Pluto and the Planetinos, or the Plutonoids, or whatever the coolest rocks from the Sun were called. As new ones were discovered out on the fringes, they could get appropriate names like Hendrix or Cobain.

Pluto would finally get some respect, and the planetocracy would be spared from conflicts with all his tiny frozen sidekicks. In the long run, it’s the only way this Peace of Prague could hold.