This is such a shabby piece of work, and the more I read, the angrier it made me.
It shouts that when paranormal stopped paying dividends the writer had a write to market epiphany and picked space opera as the next profitable thing with an undiscriminating audience.
There's really awful skiffy set dressing. Awkward coined phrases like back-in-black for 'being in space'. The use of "fleet" without any article to refer to the Space Police, Navy, ships, Mech Warriors ... it's never clear.
The spaceship is called Starscream, presumably after half watching a Transformers movie with the kids and completely misunderstanding who was on what side. It obviously has an agricultural diesel engine, because you can hear it start, stop, race, grind ... from anywhere on board.
There's a whole kitchen sink of TV skiffy tropes. The setting is a mash up of Star Wars, the Expanse, Stargate and Firefly, just because these indie sci-fi writers always name-check Firefly, with a weird set of Thor references, presumably because the kids just rented Ragnarok. The heroine is a smush together of the Terminator, Data from Star Trek, the Altered Carbon body swap and Jason Bourne. The hero is Han Solo crossed with something dredged out of the worst kind of bad boy romance.
The writing is terrible. It's the kind of book where people's eyes narrow and follow you across the room. At one point we learn, "She couldn't hide a thing from her face." Answer - just put it behind her; or in a box. The hero beats someone to death with the butt of his ray gun, presumably because he must not know what the other end does. If the author doesn't know what a non sequitur is, she has a surprising knack them. People say stuff, and stuff happens, with no regard to the idea of cause and effect.
If you've read this and had a shaky moment because 'I don't usually like sci-fi ... but I like this', you can just relax. You still don't like sci-fi. But you might want to think long and hard about what you do like.