Let’s look at the history of a historian. Specifically, Dean Midge. It was a long time ago when she lost her brother, Aldus. He too was a historian just like his sister and their parents. While she was off building version 3.0 of the probability engine locked into her introverted solitude of thoughts about criterion weighting, her brother was locked in a battle with the Shuns, an angry species from Ansop Lesser that believed that the universe was made by a turtle or perhaps pulled in a cart behind a turtle or some other such nonsense.
Normally this sort of thing can easily be treated by evidence. Knowledge is inoculation. However, the Shun religious doctrine required proselytizing and conversion, by force if necessary. You can see that this sort of thing is headed for a rather significant ending. And it was this that caused Aldus Midge to perish at the Battle of Inske (the capital city of Ansop Lesser.)
Since that time, psychologists have determined that the cause of the problem was the name of the planet, Ansop Lesser. Specifically, the “Lesser” part of the name. Apparently, the male of the species found it to be processed subconsciously as a humiliation, implying the male sexual organ of this species, which had a striking resemblance to a fruit fly, was inadequate for the task. Biologists proved that their half-inch genitalia was sufficient for the task of reproduction. Just not enough for their partners to enjoy it very much.
But after the full report was implemented, Ansop Lesser was renamed to Ansop Huge and everything returned to normal.
Dean Midge was devastated when Aldus died. They had never been close and wouldn’t ever be. Her parents had always asked Midge to look after her brother. But she didn’t. Never once called him. Never once invited him over for dinner. None of it. So when he died, it hit her harder than she imagined. The deeply introverted Midge did what most introverts would do: hide in her work.
If you ever want to see the largest collection of introverts in your life, stop by any history department. It’s possible for extroverts to get through, but it’s a small minority. But the big names in history? Mostly extroverts. Self-promoting jerks.
Dean Midge and Prof. Longley were in Longley’s office with the door closed. In the waiting area just outside of the office sat Wingut, Indira, Eflin, Trill, and Necker.
They all spent fifty tox in a meeting together where Wingut laid out the facts regarding the History Department's failure to protect one of its own. Prof. Longley sat with his arms folded across his chest and a very angry look on his face. This was dangerous, as every historian knew that losing your temper increased the probability of saying something that could cost them their license by 22 percent. When Dean Midge asked Prof. Longley to confirm that he agreed with the facts, he hesitated for a long time, almost spoke, thought better of it, and finally nodded his agreement.
Then he began his rebuttal. It could best be summarized as a rather vicious attack against the personality of Professors Wingut and Trill.
Longley was no slouch when it came to argument. He began with a series of questions for Wingut of a personal nature. During this he established that Wingut had long been attracted to Indira, while at university and still to this day. As he answered Longley’s questions truthfully, with the object of his desires sitting less than one maatar from him, Wingut wished he could find a hole in the ground and crawl in.
Finally Dean Midge cut off Longley in his questioning by saying Wingut’s motivations were irrelevant and that the ad homonym attack could easily be brought up at Longley’s next certification as breach of the truth by shading.
Now they sat outside the office as Dean Midge and Longley had a private word. They occasionally heard Prof. Longley raise his voice. It all ended abruptly with the sound of breaking glass. Longley's office door flew open and he stormed out. “Screw you,” he said as he passed Wingut. Dean Midge appeared in the doorway.
"Are you okay?" asked Wingut.
"Yes. The only casualty was the Herodotus award."
"Are we good to go?" Asked Prof. Trill.
Dean Midge nodded. Professor Trill started grinning. He raised his communication bracelet near his mouth.
"Muncie, we're a go. Get them all in the cruiser." Prof. Trill was silent for a moment before speaking again.
"Yes, it's ours. Thank you, Muncie, it's kind of you to say so.”
“Them all” turned out to be twenty-five sociologists fully trained in combat and weapons. They were a rowdy bunch of men and women. Trill smiled as they cheered him and shook his hand when they boarded the cruiser.
“The curse if finally lifted,” said one of them.
“Yes, it is,” agreed Trill.
“Who are these old geezers?” asked one of the sociologists. His question was met with a smart slap to the back of his head.
“Ow. Why did you do that?”
“Lack of respect,” replied Trill. Then Trill introduced everyone.
The captain of the cruiser was a man named Erlog.
“Get us out of here,” said Trill.
“Yes, sir,” replied Erlog.
“Are the satellites on board?” asked Trill.
“Yes, sir.”
Wiping the memory of an entire planet can be done quickly with satellites purposely built for the task.