I found Hardman's most recently published Viking to be an absolutely riveting story. I enjoy the sci-fi elements, but the novel will find broad appeal outside the genre, too, given its compelling premise, taut pacing, and sympathetic cast of characters. Hardman reveals twists and turns at precisely the right moments to heighten the story's intensity. Plenty will enjoy how the book is sprinkled with generous amounts of hi-tech gadgetry like implants, skimmers, and bio-suits, but these play a supporting role, and never distract from the story-telling.
The plot itself could just as easily be placed in a non sci-fi setting without anything being lost. This speaks to the strength of the plot and of the importance of character and relationships, but I did feel more than a trifle disappointed that the story's most fascinating creature--one of the many sentient, floating jellyfish that hovered in the air like a somnolent herd of cows--was awarded a point-of-view prominence, but then wasn't meaningfully developed. They communicate through radio frequencies with one another and can hear but not understand the transmissions of the colonizing earthlings who are broadcasting a continuous feed of radio signals back to earth. Readers will find it curious that the creatures have names for each other that are simply Arabic numerals. This is not explained. I recognized that all of their number/names are prime numbers, but again, I didn't register any explanation or justification for this. The point-of-view creature named 1291 seemed little more than Chekhov's gun on the wall in Act I that goes off in Act II; 1291 makes an appearance at the end, deus ex-machina, but its presence as a character in the story arouses more curiosity in the reader than the author has chosen to satisfy. Granting the author credit for brilliance, I think one possible interpretation is that the ever-present but inscrutable being typifies the benevolent God to whom the main character appeals, sometimes, it seems, in vain, and whose motives and means, are simply beyond our ken.
Conversant with LDS theology, I found it interesting (yet neither distracting nor obvious) that this hero's journey follows a familiar pattern: a young and innocent character must leave everything behind--his parents, security, indeed his very identity-to perform an important service on earth. In this temporary state--with his previous identify fully obscured--he marries and starts a family and undertakes to perform his mission. When he has overcome the temptations and trials--at least occasionally through divine intervention (in the form of the spirit-like jelly fish hearing his every word) his former identify is restored. His name fully cleared of all wrong-doing, he now waits in peace for his faithful wife to join him. He has his own planet now, and together, in marital bliss, they will continue to procreate. His affecting line to his beloved will ring with resonance to Latter-day Saint readers: "No world could be mine without you in it."