by Matt Ahlschwede

The diner was down on the ground level of Berwynne's Gate, wedged in between an ancient atmospheric conditioning plant and one of those fancy body modification shops the Edenites love so much.  Everybody's got a little mod here or there nowadays, what's the big deal with them anyway, basing their whole culture off of it like it was the latest thing?

"Welcome to Scarf and Barf, home of the greasiest hamburger this side of Aldebaran.", said the portly cook, his bionic eye glowing red. "Thanks", I replied, taking a seat at the counter.  

I had come to partake of the LandStrider, an enormous 5 kg burger.  If you could finish it in half a standard hour, your picture would go on display in the diner's app, and you could feel the confidence to engage in the next stage of your competitive eating career.  If you couldn't stomach it, well, maybe the big time just isn't for everybody.

A lanky blue Jovian sitting nearby shot out his ear stalks when I ordered.  "Are you a competitive eater?", he inquired. "Aspiring.", I nodded, rolling up my sleeves.  The pressure was on, people pay attention to a power-eater.  "Did you see the sector finals in pie eating?", asked the Jovian.  Leefus Raxx, the reigning pie-eating champion had his crown stolen by a relative unknown, an adventurous Gorox who had recently come out of hibernation, and had made a brief career in the competitive eating world.  "It was a stunt.", I said, "Everybody knows about the ravenous appetite a Gorox develops during hibernation."   "I couldn't agree more", retorted the Jovian, "and it's bad for the sport." His eye-stalks came into view over his sunglasses,(It is common for Jovians to wear sunglasses out in public, as most folks find their eye-stalks a bit unnerving).

Talking with Jovians, in some ways, is easier for me than talking to other Humans.  Other Humans tend to have a subconscious averse reaction to my appearance.  My features, I am told, are slightly reptilian in appearance.  Something about my eyes is vaguely unsettling.  I blame my grandmother for this.  To Jovians and most other aliens, on the other hand, the human form is so exotic that they don't seem to notice.

Outside, ground traffic roared and honked, and a sky-cab landed across the street. A brain stood under a streetlight, reciting novels from memory, as a small robot gathered tips.  The night's offering was from Donneth Vogue's "The Archipelago", one of the founding documents of the mad Markovians.  It was getting dark, and various display signs were starting to come on.  A local rishathra parlor was advertising a floor show "Forbidden Love: Red on Purple Takarran Lust" (How this was possible without one murdering the other will remain a mystery to me.) , "Benko's Robot service center, open all night", "Cosmid Biosystems: Solutions for a Better Life"

"The name is Bibi Malu", said the Jovian, "I'm scouting new talent for the Devourers of Dogur-Dann, perhaps you've heard of them?" (As though anybody in the competitive eating world hadn't.)  "Really?  Well, get ready to find your next star.", I could hardly believe it, the Devourers had swept the finals at the last Smorgasbord, as usual.  Looks like the big time had come and found me.  "No pressure, it's just dinner.",  I told myself, unconvincingly.

In a few minutes, the serve-bot brought out the plate.   "頂きます!", she burbled, setting the gigantic mound of meat and bread on the counter.  A large timer lowered from the ceiling, and I unhinged my jaw.  

As the timer started counting down, I cut the burger into nine sections, and my stomach reflexively expanded.  The LandStrider smelled good, but that was beside the point, this was business. 

Section one, section two:  no problem.

Three, four, five.  The timer passed the twenty-eight-minute mark, and I could feel a distinct weight in my belly.  

The other diners started to gather around, and someone with a camera-drone was taking in the scene from above. 

Section six and seven, I was starting to get the meat-sweats. 

Genetic modifications are forbidden in professional competitive eating events unless they had been in your germ-line for at least two generations.  Luckily, my paternal grandmother had been an Edenite, but not any ordinary Edenite.  She had been one of the "Children of the Earth", an extreme subgroup devoted to genetic modification, and for some reason had spliced in a few python genes here and there.  I was about to be grandfathered in (or if you prefer, grandmothered in).

Section eight was a bit gristly, (a rare defect in vat-grown meat).  

Section nine, and done.  The timer stood at 25:24, and the diner erupted in cheers. I had eaten the whole thing in just over four and a half minutes, a new record.

And that's how I made my big break.