Rolf knew exactly when this arc of time was being forged. When the dual strings threaded through the graphs at the start of this one, Rolf wasn’t surprised to see that they’d jumped apart again. What he he’d hoped not to see, however, was the date. More unshared time. But the trajectory was part of the same arc, so at least he could anticipate that. He quickly ran the numbers on the white board on the wall, littered with the residue of countless previous computations. He didn’t really need it, the estimates his genius-level mind was able to come up with were sufficient for his purposes. Once the exact formulas were complete on the wipe board, however, that confirmed it: Rolf had a very rare opportunity to get them out of this jam, and to do so he was going to have to enter the slipstream, himself.
If he understood what the graphic depiction of the timeline was telling him – and he thought he did, because the numbers generally bore out the graphical analysis – then this might be a longer stay for them. Why now and not when such a thing had been planned, he had no idea. Rolf hated having no idea, so this agitated him. He scratched at his balding head and ruminated to himself in German. He thought best when he thought in German, and swearing to himself in German helped that much more.
“Scheisse!” he yelled at the computer screen. He had to take advantage of this very rare opportunity when he was able to affect the changes to get them out of the mess this arc was clearly not going to easily let them out of. But it was risky. He had himself to think about, after all. If he set himself on their path he’d never be able to get himself back, and that just wasn’t an option. But if he did it the safe way, he wouldn’t be able to do anything of any real significance, so what was the point?
Then he got an idea. It was actually pretty brilliant. “Doctor, heal thyself,” he murmured over the whir of the CPUs and printers and buzzing monitors. The look in his eyes was pure awe – at his own genius. “If I knew then what I know now …” It wouldn’t really re-harness his subjects, and it wouldn’t set them back on the proper track or eliminate this unfortunate arc of unshared time; that he still hadn’t figured out and would have to deal with as soon as he got back from his quantum rollercoaster ride. But it would get them out of this jam, and more importantly … it would make him the most powerful man in the history of time.
==============
Steve didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. But there he was, as real as anything else on this insane journey that ripped him from his home, his family, and his life. Stefano Dimera. Beside him was his witch doctor, Rolf, looking less than happy to be there.
“I knew it,” Steve hissed. The electric hum warbled at the sound of his voice. “I knew you were behind this.”
“Yes,” Stefano looked at him oddly. “Good for you, Mr. Johnson, you remember who your master is. What a breakthrough.”
Steve heard the sarcasm and realized they might be talking about two different things. His whole body ached from sensory overload, but he had to know when this was. Without the benefit of a mirror, it could have been any time before he became Nick Stockton. “What year is it, old man?”
“Well, Rolf, maybe your drug is better than I gave you credit for,” Stefano spat at the little man, “but this setback is unacceptable!”
“What year?!” Steve roared.
“You are in no position to demand anything, you idiot! What’s it to you the year? You’re nothing. You’re no one. You’re a soldier. Do as you’re programmed!”
“Programmed?! You think your little Tarot card is gonna get me? That’s over, dude. My wife made sure of tha—“ And the stench, strobe lights, thrash metal, and horrible sounds of Kayla’s screams began for the fourth time. Steve buried his head in his hands and felt the tears involuntarily erupt from the assault. When it stopped, he looked up at Stefano, his eye rolling.
“I can sit here all day, my soldier, though I thought we were past that. There’s nothing at all keeping me from standing in this spot all day and watching you suffer.”
Just then, Rolf threw up on Stefano’s expensive Italian shoes.