In Pearce’s SF novel, an embattled reality-TV director is tasked with making an action-hero out of a burly ex-military man, but their pilot episode, shot on an alien-infested space station, could be their finale.

In the far future, balding and out-of-shape videographer-producer Ian MacIntyre is given a last chance to salvage his failing career by broadcast production company Galactic: He’s to head into the deep cosmos and do a reality-TV program based on the heroics of a manufactured idol, “Captain Charisma.” The actor chosen to work with MacIntyre and play the title role is brawny, ingratiating ladies’ man Joe Drake—Texan, ex-military, and fairly fearless (he also acted as “narrator in Death of a Salesman. A Capulet extra in Romeo and Juliet. Most of my work occurred behind the curtains”). MacIntyre is not initially impressed. En route to Galactic’s preferred shooting-location planet, the duo is sidetracked at the gigantic Minnix Ore Space Station 27, crossroads for a variety of alien civilizations that are generally hateful toward each other. The human female commander has an issue, one that MacIntyre thinks could make for a nice try-out episode: A large, beetle-like insect pest, possibly smuggled aboard as alien livestock, has gotten loose and is chewing through vital cabling and infrastructure. Captain Charisma can play exterminator before the lens of MacIntyre’s ever-hovering camera drone. (“The bigwigs insisted filming a bug hunt would make for good drama—a hero blasting a critter into a gooey mess. Fine by me, except for the conditions aboard this space station. Lighting? Terrible. Audio conditions? Worse.”) But the bug turns out to be bigger and far deadlier than imagined, and the aliens aboard turn out to be harboring schemes and secrets. Ian’s vengeful ex-wife, Rose, once his partner-in-holovids, has arrived on Minnix herself, accompanied by a vainglorious cyborg adventurer, determined to do her own reality-TV franchise and put MacIntyre and Drake out of business—if they are not killed first.

With this volume, the author begins a new space-opera series, The Green Charisma Chronicles (a pre-existing novella, The Cinematographer’s Conscience, fleshes out the backstory). Readers should have no trouble following the action, unless they are somehow unfamiliar with the we-only-wish-it-were-SF phenomenon of reality TV. The high action quotient here could qualify the material as combat-military SF with a heaping helping of showbiz satire on the side as ethics go out the window (or airlock, in this case): everyone is motivated by big bucks and boffo ratings. Oddly, the overall vibe and plot mechanics hew closer to yesteryear’s spoofs of prime-time network television and Nielsen numbers rather than home in on the 21st century’s media landscape of internet channel views, livestreams, and social-media trends. Lighter elements of the story include MacIntyre’s blossoming odd-couple romance with a sexy, shapely lizard girl and various other farcical enological developments. The mayhem and battles, when they come, are in the slam-bang pulp tradition and do not let up. Fans of the prolific Harry Harrison should latch onto this series with great delight.

Diverting space action, breezy banter, and dismemberment, leavened by media spoofs.