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They were just father and son sipping whisky, getting to know each other for the first time. Picard already knew more about his son than he would have liked. And they began to chat.
“I think we need to talk about things. Set the record straight. Let’s talk about something you don’t know much about — consequences.”
Jack opened his mouth, and the tedious mix of charm wrapped in self-pity came forth. “I always knew I was… special. Different. Like I was destined to bring one voice to the galaxy where there would be no wars or suffering."
Picard almost gagged on his whisky, pretending that it had gone down the wrong way. He has got to be kidding me.
“Jack,” he said quietly.
Jack turned toward him. “What?”
Picard faced him fully. He wasn’t in the mood to placate him or defend him just because he was his son. Jack needed someone to finally tell him the truth.
“Stop this right now,” Picard said, taking a sip of whisky, “before you dig yourself any deeper into whatever fantasy you’ve built around yourself.”
Jack blinked. “Fantasy? It’s not a fantasy—”
“Yes, it is.”
“Feeling lost does not make you special. Being lonely does not make you chosen. And hearing a voice in your head most certainly does not make you destined for greatness.”
Jack swallowed hard, utterly confused.
Picard continued, not unkind but unflinchingly firm.
“I see you are struggling, Jack. I know you’re confused, hurt, and angry. Those are human emotions, not signs of destiny. Every cadet in Starfleet, every teenager in the quadrant, wakes up wondering who they are. Sometimes it’s incredibly difficult when you are young. But none of them declare themselves to be ‘different and special’ and them try running into the arms of the first Borg they can find that flatters them.”
Jack looked away. He was a little embarrassed now.
Picard pressed on, knowing that he was finally getting through to him.
“You are not cursed. You are not some kind of ‘chosen one.’ You are definitely not some exception in the galaxy.'
Jack stammered. "But..."
“You are a young man making catastrophically poor decisions. Look at what you are wanted for — pretty much every crime you can think of: murder, organised crime, and arms smuggling. You always want the easy way out. You’re irresponsible.”
Jack tried to take in a deep breath.
Picard continued. “And if you keep believing that being ‘special’ excuses your behaviour, you will destroy everything good in your life. Not because of the Borg. Not because of destiny. But because of yourself”
Jack finally met his eyes. He felt defensive, ashamed, angry.
Picard held his gaze trying to stop the self-pity.
“You want to be different?” he said quietly. “Then start taking responsibility. That would make you more exceptional than any so-called prophecy. It would make you more powerful.”
Jack tried to say something, but he couldn’t find the words to reply to his father.
“Now. Enough of this mythology you’ve constructed around yourself before it’s too late. You’re not destined to become a Borg. It’s hard, but you still have free will. Remember, you’re Jack Crusher. And it’s time you started acting like him.”
Jack finished his whisky and left. What his father had just said made more sense than anything that the Borg Queen had whispered.