"Starfleet."

"And yes, absolutely. All my life, I wanted to join Starfleet. Explore the galaxy, you know?"

They reach a door. It doesn't open for Harry, but he gestures Laurence forward.

"I expect that I do. I was always mad for the sea, since I was a small boy. Disappointed my father greatly when I ran away to the Navy at twelve."

Laurence is slightly puzzled by the door, but he has seen Kim and Janeway go through doors that open of their own accord several times now, so he edges forward towards it with only a trace of nervousness.

The door opens, revealing a modest cabin (at least, by 24th century standards).

Out the window, you can see the stars slowly streak past.

Laurence slowly steps inside. His eyes widen at the single full bed in the corner. "A private room?" he says, rather stupidly. Oh. Janeway said officer's quarters, didn't she, and he had missed it entirely. "I-- I must protest. I am no officer here, and surely do not warrant such lavish accommodations." He feels terribly self-conscious about this clear mark of status being bestowed on him. Voyager is large, but surely not so large that every crewman could be accommodated in this style.

"Well, I suppose you can take it up with the captain. I can't actually reassign your quarters."

Harry struggles to work out exactly why Laurence's objection sounds wrong to him.

"But I don't actually agree, and I don't think the captain would either. Everybody else on the ship signed up for it. You didn't. If somebody's life's dream" (he smiles) "is to join Starfleet, even if it means sharing a room, that's one thing. Nobody asked you."

He looks around.

"Anyway if it helps, this isn't even all that nice. This looks just like my quarters."

Laurence isn't quite satisfied by this, but he supposes that quarters equivalent to an ensign's are unlikely to be truly, offensively above his own station here. "I only hope that my presence here will not put anyone out who might contribute in greater part to the workings of ship and crew."

He looks around in slight puzzlement. The furnishings are very strange-- the fabrics seem extremely fine, yet totally lacking in adornment. He glances under the bed in search of a chamberpot.

Then he notices the window, full of streaks of light on black. "What... is that?" It almost looks like a painting, or illusion.

Harry's heart drops for a second, looking out the window expecting to see whatever crazy Starfleet thing comes next after the delta quadrant and the 18th century guy. But there's nothing there.

Then he realizes. 

"Oh! Those are stars."

He gives a huge grin like he's Zefram Cochrane and personally invented warp travel.

No they aren't. Laurence has seen what stars look like before and that's not it.

... No, he supposes he hasn't seen what stars look like before. Not real ones.

"Are they always so..." he gestures, "long?"

"Oh no, that's an optical illusion caused by the warp bubble."

Surely Laurence has seen stars before, what a strange question.

Laurence doesn't really know what any of that means, but he nods, getting the general idea that the stars don't usually look like this. He hasn't felt this foolish since his school days.

What does he need to know to survive on this ship... Food and water. Sanitation. Laundry, eventually, but that can wait, his clothes were starched just yesterday. And how to earn his keep, as soon as possible.

This is mortifying to ask, but he sees no way around it. "Is there... That is... I see no chamberpot in the room," he says, trying to be as delicate as possible. "Do lower officers, er..." He trails off.

"Oh, uh, of course. Right this way."

Kim leads Laurence to the bathroom, and indicates the toilet.

"You, uh, do your business in here, and then press this button." He demonstrates flushing.

Laurence has SEVERAL questions about this that he is absolutely certain he will never, ever, ever ask. He nods stiffly.

Then he points to the replicator. "What is that?"

Harry likes this topic much better. 

"This is the replicator! It can make, well, almost anything."

Harry walks over to the replicator and addresses it. 

"Small bowl of kimchi."

It materializes the the replicator. He grabs it and starts eating.

Food magically appears in the box when you ask for it?? Also, what are those sticks that Ensign Kim is eating with? And the red stuff he's eating?

"What... sorts of food can it produce?" he asks. He's pretty sure he'd prefer even hard ship's biscuit to whatever that is, but he supposes he can make do if he must. "Where does it come from?"

Harry's eating vigorously to make sure he doesn't have to recycle his food or stall in Laurence's room, so it takes him a second to answer. 

"Just about anything, really. What's your favorite food?"

He considers how to explain where replicator food comes from.

"... Roast beef?" he offers tentatively.

"There are 11 variaties of roast beef available at this replicator. Plain roast beef. Roast beef sandwich. Sunday roast. Klingon roast targ. Stroganoff roast beef."

The replicator will continue in this vein for a while if not interrupted.

Harry's figured out how to explain the replicator!

"The replicator takes the energy from the warp core and turns out into food using the pattern buffers. It's like taking water and freezing it into ice. And the replicator is like a sculptor shaping the ice into exactly the right sculpture."

He nods to himself, satisfied.

"Ah-- a moment," he says to the replicator, then to Ensign Kim, "Do most crew eat in their quarters, or is there a mess?"

And then he wonders aloud "Are such devices in common use? ... I find myself at a loss as to what work there is to do anywhere, if so. Why do you sail such ships as these, if not for trade or war? ... Are you at war? This transportation of your ship seems to constitute an act thereof."

"I think, for most meals, about half the crew eats in the mess? Not the same half every time."

"Federation citizens do not, in general, need to work to survive. Most choose to anyway. People are still needed for research, for law, for engineering, for medicine, for politics, for art. But people see the benefit of work, to them, as the meaning it brings to their lives."

"As for why we, uh, sail these ships..."

"Well, mostly for exploration. The galaxy is enormous: it's going to take us 70 years to get back home to the other side, in the fastest ship in the fleet. Exploring it is Starfleet's primary purpose. Secondarily, Starfleet exists to defend the Federation."

"The Federation is at war with the Maquis, I suppose, although I think that makes it sound more dramatic than it is. Our original mission was to capture a maquis ship. But out here, that's not really relevant. Nobody we meet will have even heard of the Federation."

"I think you're right that bringing Voyager into claimed space without permission would be an act of war, but most space isn't claimed."

Research, law, engineering, medicine, politics, art.

None of those are areas where Laurence feels himself competent to contribute.

A vast empire, mainly at peace, with nothing for most of its people to do but work they invent to bring "meaning" to their lives, without any higher purpose but their own. Laurence should perhaps be happy that no one in this world suffers the depredations of war and privation, yet... he is oddly melancholy contemplating his own existence in such a world.

Then he notices a possible inconsistency.

"Is there not need for work in combat as well? In this war against the Maquis, and the defense of the Federation? And command, leading men in the other professions which you mentioned?"

"Oh yeah, sorry, there's lots of other jobs, including command. There's security: we don't have have, uh, infantry. Most Starfleet jobs are at least partially peaceful."