Publishing Date: June 2019
Publisher’s Description: Montana is a newly independent colony, home to both colonizing humans and the Xakalar, who are native to the planet. When deposits of an extremely rare mineral are discovered on the Montana, everyone’s eyes focus on the small colony…and everyone wants a piece of the planet.
Review: That cover art is in need of a makeover. Wow.
This started off really good. Alien invasions, tactical space wars, good solid made up science and characters with some promising beginnings. It starts turning to shjt when douche….er, Matt Chin first meets his sister Maggie, at the space port. Of course she is frikin’ hotter than a hydrogen fart and proceeds to get accosted by off-world space marines with LEERING faces veiling malicious intent. So these drunkards, out of the blue, hit on a “babe” in a busy space port, which….gets ol’ Matty Doucheb….er Chin and his alien buddy all riled up. See, the problem I got with this, is what might be the beginning of a patterned bullshjt story line we see time and time again. Right away we can guess the outcome of the entire novel as there is nothing surprising or inventive.
Well the aliens have attacked (giving nothing away here) and the resident alien chief whatever, gives a grand speech that is so corny that it rides the fringes of racially demeaning the Native American Indian. And I quote…, “This is Zhontalis, chief of the Western Canyonlands Xakalar Tribe. This is a message for my people, Let us lead you to shelter in the mountains……etc.”. This goes on for a bit and really doesn’t fit the story line in two ways. They are currently being bombed (no time for big speeches) and aliens talking like Hollywood Indians is not only insulting but is very non-alien. Did this author grow up virtue signaling or was it acquired later in life? So of course Matty dumb-dumb is anointed Captain hero while Maggie swishes her red tresses and blinks those perfect almond eyes because her Dad is Chinese and their Mom is tall. Right.
So what once had great designs on the imagination, prevails in stamping any entertainment value right out of your dirty scrabbling little fingers, you mewling grovelers.