A slow head bob was the first reply, and then Cassie flashed a grin. This man -- Oliver -- was being polite, so there was no reason she couldn't be either.
"Cassie," she replied. "This junk heap -- don't tell the pilot I said that, she'll just say I can't tell a garbage truck from a freighter -- is the Vagabond. She's not mine, but I guess I can say I'm the co-pilot. Not that I'm trained or anything.
"There aren't any spaceships where I'm from, either. And the sleep thing was a no-go for me, too, so I thought I'd get a head start on organizing our supplies. Gonna be opening up a transport operation, though between the size of the ship and all this crap, not sure where we're going to stick the passengers." The last bit was her attempt at a wise crack, as she motioned toward the ship with the beef jerky in her one hand. She brought it back down, arms at her sides.
"How long have you been here, Oliver? You look like you're dealing with the change well enough. I'm guessing things here aren't too different from your home world."