[member="Shmi Labooda"]
Jorus scratched his neck. He thought of the Mara Corridor, the super-hyperlane that he and his wife had created. He thought of dozens of worlds -- Asahi, Kyrikal, so many -- that he'd reconnected with the galaxy. He thought of the Jedi Order Library Card project, that allowed Jedi of many factions, or none, to ask questions of holocrons remotely and securely, and had for years. He thought of the Underground, the conflicts that had punched the Fringe into submission, the lives he'd taken at the Second Battle of Taloraan. He thought of innumerable evacuation runs, of gun deliveries to resistance fighters deep within the One Sith territories. He thought of his daughter Mara, now a Master in her own right, a Warden of the Sky and a Kilian Ranger. He thought of the intensely pre-technological planet called Q-27, where he and Alna had raised Mara -- and the lengths to which he'd gone to keep that vulnerable planet secret and safe. He thought of the rediscovery of Ahch-To. He thought of the time he'd organized the first modern convocation of Jedi, Jedi from every faction and none at all. He thought of visiting the Graveyard of Dragons as a younger man, and chasing one of his Duinuogwuin teachers across the galaxy. He thought of HALCYON space train skyhooks, mass transit for the stars; he thought of Brodo Asogan breach points, opening the Rishi Maze to trade, voyaging to Companion Esk, discovering and liberating Echoy'la, flying far beyond the companion galaxies in a modified Pathfinder. He thought of visiting the Five Priestesses on the homeworld of the Force, and debating Confusion herself, and losing, and learning. He thought of the vaults and secret enclaves he'd built during the long defeat -- Hoth, Dagobah, Nkllon and the rest. He thought of his holocron, the Blake-Merrill Star Map, and all the instinctive astrogation classes he'd taught. He thought of making a trillion-credit fortune and walking away from it. He thought of the statue of Alna on Chalacta, and the fastest hyperdrives in the galaxy, and saving the Chancellor and the Grandmaster and the Great Holocron and Tionne Solusar's holocron, and slamming the stock of a beskar shotgun into Darth Vornskr's nuts.
It made him smile, lost in memory for a second too long.
"The way I see it," he said slowly, "what folks remember about Darron Wraith or Kiskla Grayson or Ben Watts is just a fraction of what they were, what they stood for. Doesn't bear a ton of resemblance, either. Glory gets it wrong and fades so fast. Doesn't really matter how you're remembered; doesn't have much relationship to what you did. That stands or falls on its own, and nothing's permanent. See, legacy's about people, and people think what they want and remember what they can. I don't have much interest in legacy. But if this is a roundabout way of asking me to do something, whatcha need?"
