Conflict

Part 3, Chapter 5

"What was that you said? Hm? Something about 'taking care of yourself'?"

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for this right now?"

"You look terrible."

The pain medications had worn off several hours prior. In fact, they had started wearing off even before Rotor transported him to the Los Angeles airport, nearly six hours before they touched down in Michigan. Strip winced as two forklifts gingerly picked him up and carried him off the unmarked corporate jet.

Lynda followed them close, quietly asking the assistants carrying her husband to be careful. She'd seen him in pain before, but never like this. Despite hearing his reservations about her joining him on the way to the factory, she insisted on accompanying him. After a wreck like that she wasn't about to let him out of her sight, especially en route to a place like this.

As the forklifts rested him on the back of a flatbed wrecker to be hauled inside, Lynda looked around and for the first time consciously acknowledged where she was. The Chrysler headquarters were so much larger than she ever imagined. Their jet had landed in a huge courtyard several times bigger than any racetrack she'd ever been to. All around them, buildings loomed as though their only goal was to block out the sun. She felt small and insignificant.

"Bit much, isn't it?" Izzy asked her, noticing her hesitation.

"It's just..." Lynda struggled to find the right word. "Imposin', I guess. Kinda weird to think we all came from here."

"I'll give you the grand tour later," Izzy promised, turning to follow the wrecker inside.

Lynda followed, unsure if she really wanted to know what conspired in the depths of this cradle of life.

In a repair bay, Rick's assistants unloaded Strip from the flatbed and placed him on the repair machine's track as the Power Wagon watched nearby. Izzy and Lynda stayed at the far end of the room until the aides left them in peace with the CEO and the crippled racer.

"Gracious, boy. The last time you looked like this we'd just pulled you out from under a building," Rick commented as he neared Strip.

"Just knock me out already, will you?" Strip tried to sound as terse as possible. In all reality, he sounded pathetic.

"Izzy, knock the edge off for him," Rick ordered.

The Daytona nodded once and drove over to a nearby shelf full of bottles. Carefully, she mixed a few of the compounds and filled a blunt-nosed syringe with the liquid. Strip eyed her suspiciously as she brought it over.

"You know, this might be the first time I've ever been hesitant to trust you," he said to her.

Izzy rolled her eyes. "Do I have to physically show you my doctorate? 'Cause if I do, it's gonna take me another twenty minutes to go get it and bring it back to you. I'm qualified, I promise."

Strip looked at Lynda questioningly. She knew he didn't like taking medication in general, but she wasn't about to defend his case here.

"Don't look at me. I trust her."

"See?" Izzy gestured toward the waiting station wagon. "Now are you gonna drink this, or am I gonna have to pry that hood off and force it into you?"

Why she even asked the question in the first place was anyone's guess. She shoved the syringe in his mouth without a word of warning and dosed him. Strip begrudgingly submitted in defeat, flinching as he swallowed. It shouldn't hurt to swallow, but it did.

"Give it a couple minutes," Izzy said in a softer tone. "You won't feel a thing."

"In the meantime, a few things you should know," Rick announced as he took center stage. "It's a new millennium, and your equipment from the seventies isn't gonna cut it anymore. You're too vulnerable. As you are, or in flight mode for that matter, you could be taken out with a single shot. It's happened before, and we're in no position to risk that now. We've done a lot of research and improved the paneling materials and defense systems. Izzy? Show him."