"Hey, Army." Amaryllis Danziger walks up to place a friendly hand on Steven Baker's shoulder, the good one.
She is in her dress whites, slacks, not skirt. She reserves the skirt for formal dinners when dancing may become involved.
"Hey, Spock!" She tousles the Dobie's ears. Because he is on board, she has downloaded veterinary texts on dogs, and read up on dobermans. Her time as a Marine has taught her that K-9 units are worth their weight in gold, and that the dog is vital to the human. While she hopes that Spock won't ever need her assistance, she has purchased -out of pocket- some common medicines the dog might need and stocked them.
She glances from passenger to passenger. Most of what she will be doing will be simple, treating diarrhea will be task one, and heart attacks will happen, usually at ports of call, because too many people will drink too much and eat too much and overdo the extreme sports with little or no prep. Next will be flu, and STDs close behind that.
Already she has dossiers on the folks smart enough, or experienced enough, to let the cruise line know ahead of time about their chronic illnesses. Both Steve and the Purser know who has brought supplies of their own meds. These will be brought to the Sick Bay as needed.
"Coronary waiting to happen at two o'clock." She murmurs. Then she grins, because at ten o'clock is a likely looking fellow for some recreation later in the voyage. No, he has a wife. Ah, well, she thinks, it is still all good. Something will turn up, it always does.