Music Welcome to snoozecast. The podcast is on to help you fall asleep. Find a set snoozecast.com And if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by the utmost importance. Tonight, we'll read the conclusion to a snooze cast original sleep story titled Max Morrow and the Train of Tomorrow. Previously on Max Morrow, Max finds a mysterious train ticket in his grandfather's old jacket that leads him to a hidden train station platform, where he boards a strange time-traveling train called the Flying Enki. Inside he meets Professor Aldous Tauk Tickwell, who tells him he's a new guardian of time and whisks him off to Munich, 1893, to help set right a potential developing ripple in time centered on a young Albert Einstein. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. Wait, wait, wait, professor. Einstein?

As a teenager,

Max blurted, struggling to keep up with Tox brisk pace as they wold through the crowded streets. Precisely, Tox nodded, giving a cheery wave to a passing carriage. But let's be clear, this isn't a social call, Max. We've got a ripple to fix. One that, uh, well, if we don't solve, let's just say the Chrono Core Drive and the Flying Yankee might not work tomorrow. What? Well, the basis of the Chrono Core Drive traces its engineering all the way back to Einstein's theory of special relativity. In other words, future scientists won't have the proper framework to develop the theory of it. Look, Max, I'll give you a history lesson on future physics another time. The point is, without Einstein's Anna's marableness, his what? His miracle year, 1905, where he publishes four ground-breaking papers that significantly alter the course of human history, photoelectric effect in March, bam, brownie in motion in May, boom, special theory of relativity in June, zap, mass energy equivalents in September, zing, what are they teaching you in school, dear boy? Uh, no matter. I'll provide you with some reading material on the return trip in the event that we are successful. Your first book, Latin, it comes up a lot in my line of work. Okay. So we're headed to his home? Yes. It's only a kilometer from the station.

I'll tell you more when we get there.

Don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves.

The din of the station faded behind them as they moved through the city.

They passed a street vendor selling sausages,

the savoury aroma making Max's stomach growl,

but talked and slowed down. They wove through groups of businessmen, their boots clicking sharply on the wet cobblestones, and duct around a horse-drawn carriage rattling by. Why?

Max Gland stop.

Taking in the old world architecture.

Tall, dark stone buildings loomed above them. Their façades intricately carved with gargoyles and statues, windows glowing faintly with gas light. Occasionally he caught glimpses of narrow alleyways between the buildings, winding off into shadows. Everything felt close and compact, the city pressing in around them. Just ahead, talk-naughted. The home looked quiet from the outside. A small building tucked between taller neighbors. Talk motioned to Max and they walked up to the first floor window, carefully hiding themselves behind a nearby bush. It was dark enough that they didn't catch any wayward eyes from the handful of pedestrians around. They peaked inside. The room was lit by a soft yellow glow. Nothing fancy, just a simple living room with sturdy wooden furniture neatly arranged. A grandfather clock stood in one corner, ticking softly. At the far end of the room, Max saw a man with a thick mustache and a receding hairline hunched over a small desk scribbling furiously. Papers were spread out around him filled with sketches of circuits and diagrams. Hermaniensdine, talks ed, his father, runs an electrical firm. A woman appeared in the doorway, carrying a steaming teapot and two delicate porcelain cups. She had a gentle refined look, with hair swept up in a neat bun, and moved with the grace of someone who always held herself just so. Pauline Einstein, talk nodded towards her.

His mother, of course. She placed the tea on a small side table, then turned and called softly over her shoulder. A young girl with braids ran skipping in. Maya, his younger sister, talks at. Following behind her was a boy who looked to be Max's age. His hair was short. He shuffled into the room reluctantly. A book still clutched in one hand. Max caught his breath. Even now in this tiny room, the young man seemed slightly out of place like he didn't quite belong there. The boy looked at his parents, a mix of curiosity and impatience on his face, as if he was waiting for something more. Talk noticed Max's wide eyes. We'll have time for a reflection later. Einstein is about to have something taken from him. A ripple will need to stop before it propagates.

You see, today is his birthday. Talk pointed to the adjacent window. Inside, on the kitchen table, a lovely looking cake sat proudly. A dozen or so rather large candles jutted from its thick frosting. On the kitchen chair was a medium-sized package wrapped in plain brown paper. You see that package, Max? Max nodded. That gift is a violin. Simultaneously, when young Albert is opening that gift after he blows out his candles at precisely 603 pm, talk checked his watch, the Einstein's will receive a knock on the door from Byrish's snow post, a private courier service with another gift from his Uncle Jacob. A chemistry set. One his uncle put together himself with materials gathered from local pharmacies and science supply stores. In any case, it's of the utmost importance that we, Max, feeling emboldened and wishing to be of help, offered his understanding of the mission, that we ensure Einstein pursues the sciences by swiping the violin when no one is looking. Talk raised in eyebrow. I appreciate your initiative, Max, but no, no. No. quite the opposite in fact. Music shaped Einstein's way of thinking. It gave him creativity to see beyond numbers. Do you know what Einstein said about music, Max? Max shook his head, no. He said, I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music. Wow, Max paused. Precisely, talk said. I get it. So we need to take the chemistry set. Max asked. Talk side. Do we look like petty thieves, Max? Max eyed his worn denim jacket. Talk continued. No. Both of these events are supposed to happen. Einstein will make the decisions he makes developing a love for both science and music, and will go on eventually to have his miracle year. Our task is to stop a time pirate, or as they are more commonly known as now, Rift Jacks. Rift Jack is kind of a better name, Max observed. Well, fine, if it helps, a Rift Jack doesn't feel quite right to say, should be appearing soon. He's a rather nasty shape-shifter who goes by the name of Warren Cain. He has no regard for the central timeline. I mean, it's one thing to grab a couple of de Blunes from King Philip II. Probably won't cause it to start raining cats. But does steal Einstein's violin from him? The outcome could cause the entire collapse of the known universe. Cain won't have anyone to palm the violin to on the black market because there won't be a black market. Well, why would Kane do that, Professor, if he knows the outcome? Talks, expression, hardened, and he glanced away for a moment, eyes distant. I don't know, dear boy. Men like Cain don't need reasons. A twig snapped somewhere off to their right. The sudden sound sharp in the stillness. In Chul-di-gong, Vasmaks-du-da, a figure stepped out from the thick underbrush, tall and posing a glint of metal flashing in the dim light. It was a man in dark uniform. But in shining, a stiff brimmed hat casting his face in shadow, a badge gleamed on his chest. Bullietzai. Max understood. The officer was asking them with authority what they were doing, cowering in this bush. Talk straightened with an effortless gaze and replied in perfect German. Ah, sir, so glad that you found us, his voice bright and welcoming. He gestured wildly around them. You see my nephew here? He is a young botanist. He clapped his hand on Max's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. We were looking for the rare Valveilet. Valveilet? The officer repeated back. Yes, very hard to find this time of year, you know. The officer eyed Max suspiciously and inquired. Strange clothing for a young man, isn't it? Talk looked at Max and shrugged at the officer. The youth. The officer chuckled at this and turned to Max, asking him in German with maple translating. Is this man your uncle? Max hadn't learned a lot of German in the few hours or so he had been there, but he did pick up on one word. Y'all?" Max said, talks mild. Before any further questions could be asked, another man dressed in a similar uniform came running up, breathless and waving frantically. Here Hauptmann escaped I-944 in Bangladesh.

Apparently there had been some kind of incident by the railway. The two officers ran down the street, with the first officer casting a waveward glance back at Max and talk. Only now talk motioned to Max to follow him before he sends another officer. Max and talk walked down the street in the opposite direction. But how will we keep an eye out for Kane?" Max asked. Just a head look, there's a cafe still open on the corner. We can see the Einstein's's front door from the window. Come now. A small, wrought iron sign above the door indicated it was a coffee shop and elegant script. They stepped inside, a bell jangling softly above them. The interior was quiet. The few remaining patrons huddled in hushed conversations. The scent of strong coffee and fresh pastries hung in the air. They mingled with the faint smell of pipe tobacco. Talk moved swiftly to the table by the window. Max lit into the chair, glancing out. The Einstein's home was halfway down the block. Warm lights still spilling from the kitchen window. Everything looked calm, ordinary even. But Max wouldn't shake the feeling of tension. He leaned closer to talk. What if we're too late? Talk waved a dismissive hand, keeping his eyes fixed on the street. Patience. Cain isn't going to make his move until he's sure he won't be interrupted. Just keep an eye on the front door. The second something seems off, we act. They watched in silence. The minutes crawling by. A few passers by wandered along the cobblestone street, umbrellas held high against a misty rain. Tock pulled the pocket watch from his sock. A sock watch. He straightened up almost imperceptibly. It's almost time. He noted that the delivery will happen soon. Just then, at the far end of this street, a familiar figure stepped into view. The officer from before, striding confidently down the street, head held high, Max felt his stomach twist. Talk whispered, I knew he'd circle back. Max squinted. The officer's gate was wrong. His movements a touch too smooth, too fluid, and then Max saw it. The subtle shift in his posture, the way his face seemed to flicker for just a split second. Professor? Max implored. I was afraid of this, toxic. That's Kane. From the opposite end of the street, a second figure approached, a man carrying a large rectangular package. He wore the uniform of a courier, his cap pulled low over his eyes. And that must be the courier service, talks Ed, his voice low.

But watch closely. Max watched as the officer hailed the courier, stepping into his path. They exchanged a few words. And then the courier handed over a bundle of papers. The officers scrutinized them, his expression severe, a sharp whistle cut through the air, and another officer, this one clearly not a rift jack, jogged up from a side street. They flinked to the courier, speaking quickly. What's happening? Max asked.

The real officer pulled out a set of iron cuffs,

snapping them onto the courier's wrists.

The man looked bewildered as he was led away.

No, talk muttered. I was wide with realization. That limey villain. He's setting him up. What do you mean? Keynes using his shape shift to take the courier's place. He's going to deliver the package himself and steal the violin. The moment the small crowd of onlookers dispersed. The officer turned. Max's heart skipped a beat. The man's face shimmered again, morphing back into the courier's features. Kane adjusted his cap, tucked the package under his arm, and turned toward the Einstein home. We have to move now, Max. Talk said. They slipped out of the cafe, keeping low. They used the shadows of the buildings to mask their approach. From the alley, they watched as Kane knocked on the Einstein's front door. Albert answered, looking up at the courier with wide eyes.

His father appeared in the doorway next, and back into the young man to come in for a slice of cake. There was a celebration happening after all. blasted, talk said, he's already inside. Max's mind spun. What could they do? Burst in with

a wild story about the space-time continuum? No. Too risky. Then he saw it. The side window. It was slightly a jar. Professor, the window, we can sneak in and grab the violin before a cane has a chance. Talk hesitated but agreed. That just might work. Come on. They crept up to the window. Max easing it open just enough to slip through. The house was quiet, the sound of low conversation drifting from the kitchen. Max held his breath as they tipped out through the narrow hallway. They stopped just outside the kitchen door, peering in. Cain was seated at the table, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. Albert sat opposite him. Eyes fixed on the large package that sat on the table between them. The violin was propped against the far wall, gleaming softly in the lamp light. Kane's gaze flicked to it now and then we need to create a distraction,

...