ArchivedLogs:Bedfellows

Bedfellows
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Mirror
In Absentia	2014-10-28 '
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. Tuesday morning at the clinic doesn't seem all that much different from usual. Patients and staff walk back and forth through the building, going to and from appointments and meetings. The guards stand at their posts, greeting people and giving others suspicious looks as they loiter outside the building. All in all, a day like any other at the Mendel Clinic. There is one oddity, though, in the lobby of the Clinic. Its founder, Iolaus Saavedro, is in a suit. A charcoal grey one, unbuttoned to reveal the light blue dress shirt underneath, and the darker blue tie. A small glint of gold and red shines from his lapel, where a little pin with the Mendel Clinic logo is fastened. The suit isn't that unusual, to be sure, but Iolaus sitting and waiting in the lobby chairs certainly is. The young woman entering through the security trap now is also in a suit, a rich red-orange skirt-and-jacket that goes well with falltime colouring. Tall and dark-skinned and dark-eyes, her attire is neatly feminine in contrast to the more masculine-leaning sturdiness of her broad shoulders, strong squared features. She sends her large purse through the x-ray, eventually making her way in to pick it back up; the badge pinned to /it/ proclaims her to be Naseemah Chaudhry of the Daily Bugle. For Iolaus she has a polite smile, a large hand extended for shaking. "Dr. Saavedro. It's good to see you again." The smile that blossoms on Iolaus' face as he spots the reporter stepping into the lobby is professional, to be sure, if it does have a hint of being forced around the edges. "Ms. Chaudhry, the pleasure is mine, as always," the doctor says, grasping the woman's hand in his own and shaking it firmly. "Thank you for coming to meet me here. Please, this way," Iolaus says, gesturing her towards the elevators. His keycard briefly inserted into a slot in the elevator, it surges upwards towards the tenth floor. "It's been a while since I've had the pleasure. I hope everything is going well at the Bugle? I know this has been a tough time for newspapers," Iolaus says, conversationally, leaning against the wall of the elevator. Naseemah stands near the opposite wall, not leaning but curling her fingers loosely around the strap of her bag. "Things have been going well. This city, at least, gives us no shortage of /news/. I trust things here have been --" One hand turns upward, a very small smile pulling at her lips. "I mean, /tough/ at my work can't really hold a candle to a rough day at yours, I'd imagine." "I'm sure that's true," Iolaus says with a smile. "Still, I imagine that our states of busyness are related, at least. A tough day for me might very well mean a busy day for you, I'm sure." Here, at least, Iolaus' smile is more genuine, if a bit wry. The elevator doors ding and slide open, and Iolaus leads the way down the hallway and into one of the conference rooms. There is a long, fine table with chairs for twelve, as well as a projector and screen - and, probably the reason that Iolaus brought Naseemah all the way up, a skyline view of the city. "Please, take a seat," Iolaus says, as he does the same at one of the chairs along one end of the table. "So. What would you like to know?" Naseemah takes a seat nearby Iolaus, facing out to take in the view of the city with a brief flick of dark eyes. "Occasionally, yes," she murmurs, to the overlap of States of Business. She slips a digital recorder out of her purse together with a tablet and stylus, brows raising. "I hope you don't mind?" At the question she settles back in her seat, stylus briefly spinning between her fingers. "I'm sure you're aware," she begins, quiet and even with her face settling into neutrality, "but it was my piece that broke the, ah, raid down at that lab that claimed so many lives." Her eyes skate past Iolaus, to the view of the city beyond. "Though there were few survivors the documentation we got was pretty extensive -- among other things, a focus on the suppression of mutant abilities. A /cure/, they were calling it." "Of course, go ahead." Iolaus says, gesturing to the recorder with a nod. He listens, patiently, hands laced in his lap. "Yes, I remember. It was a fine piece of journalism, exposing some of the true horrors that have been going on the likes of which this world has not seen since the Doctor's Trial after the Holocaust." Disgust tinges Iolaus' words, and his expression darkens for several moments, before he takes a deep, steading breath and relaxes back into a more neutral expression. "Yes, that particular instutition had been investigating the suppression of mutant abilities. By torturing and killing people, I would like to emphasize - people that they had kidnapped off of the streets. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters. I won't sink so low as to call it /research/." Iolaus pauses for a second, eyes searching Naseemah's face. "But yes. They did make some progress towards a drug that can suppress mutant abilities in certain cases." "Progress," Naseemah finishes, eyes sliding back to Iolaus, "that's being completed here at your clinic. Or, if my sources are correct, has been completed." Iolaus' eyes match with Naseemah's face for several moments. "This clinic performs research on many different things to help our patients. Unfortunately, many mutations can have severe health repercussions on people's health. It's especially prevalent in children; children who manifest before puberty have very poor life expectancy relative to their age groups. If we can help them by reducing the impact of those mutations, it's research that's important to do." Iolaus pauses for several seconds before he continues, a trace of annoyance in his voice. "I would emphasize though that this is /first/ stage clinical research. It shows promise in developing a targeted medication for particular people in whom their mutations cause them immense physical difficulties and the risks of suppression - and there are very much risks - are outweighed by the risks of doing nothing." "I have no doubt, Doctor, that there are people who could be well served -- saved, even. By treatments that help mitigate the risks of their abilities. But surely," Naseemah replies, stylus tapping against the edge of her tablet, "you must be well aware that there's an enormously larger group of people whose interests would be served by a -- a mutant /cure/ being out there in the world." "The same people who believe that the ends justify the means, and that torture is justified when weighted against their xenophobia." Iolaus says, distaste coloring his words. "My clinic is no home for research to be used to marginalize /any/ minority, nevertheless mutants. Every researcher at my clinic - in fact, every medical researcher in the country - takes an oath not to do that kind of research. Not since World War 2." "Then how do you explain, Dr. Saavedro, that this -- this drug, this cure, is already under discussion for use in the police department as well as at Themis House -- an institution that has /already/ profited from Promethean research once." Naseemah's stylus stops tapping, instead scrawling something quickly on the face of the tablet. "I understand that opinions on Themis's mission are split but it seems an odd choice of bedfellows." Surprise gleans on Iolaus' face, followed almost immediately by confusion. His mouth opens, closes, then he considers for several seconds. "Well, the terrorists who were involved with maintaining those concentration camps had gotten quite close already to the treatment you were discussing. It saddens me, but doesn't surprise me, that some malfesant has managed to also continue the research. But I can assure you, Ms. Chaudhry, it's none of my staff." "Mmm." Naseemah's expression doesn't shift, save for a very small lift of brows as she looks at her tablet and then back to Iolaus. "You work with Dr. Rasheed Toure, do you not?" "Yes, he's an affiliate of the clinic and the principal researcher for our work on this medic--." Iolaus stops, and gives Naseemah a long look. "Are you saying that /Rasheed/ is the one who is working with Themis House and the police department with this medication?" Disbelief -- shock, really -- splashes on his face. "I--." He blinks several times. "Off the record, Naseemah. What are you saying, here?" "Dr. Toure is unquestionably a brilliant researcher," Naseemah replies evenly, "even before the Rising Plague, the work he'd done with -- ah, I'm sure you are aware. It must have been difficult," she continues lightly, "landing such a preeminent doctor at this Clinic when you were starting up. I understand hiring can be hard, given the -- target this institution can be." Her hand lowers, still holding her stylus when she sets her fingers down on the edge of the table. She regards Iolaus's expression of shock with an impassive one of her own. "I take it, then, you were not /aware/ of Dr. Toure's --" There's the slightest note of pause before finishing, "side projects?" "I consider Doctor Toure a close friend of mine, and he is an affiliate of the clinic, not an employee. I doubt my entire budget could afford him," Iolaus says, with a thin smile. He pauses, looking down at the surface of the table with a look of indigestion. "But if your /allegations/ are correct, and I hope for all our sakes that they aren't, then both will be terminated." Iolaus looks up, eyes fixing on the reporter, eyes sharp. "For the record, I deny both personally and on behalf of the clinic any knowledge of the allegations that you are making. I will convene an investigation immediately, and if what you say is borne out, all involved will no longer be employed or associated with this institution." "No, I doubt it could," Naseemah agrees easily. "But a position at your clinic would no doubt be a boon to someone with interests in --" Her head shakes slightly, eyes dipping to her tablet and then up to Iolaus's face. "I look forward to seeing what your investigation discovers, Doctor. But the work is already out there. And it only seems right for people to be /aware/ of what developments are coming out of this Clinic. Dr. Toure's work -- well. It will have enormous ramifications in the community you serve." "If that work has come from someone associated with this clinic - associated, not employed - then it goes against everything that we stand for, and everything that we have /sacrificed/ for. It would be a betrayal of the highest order, second only to /working/ in one of those disgusting concentration camps themselves." Iolaus' voice is crisp and hard, his back as straight as Jane's usually is. "The latter, I believe, being the only time I can personally contemplate endorsing the death penalty." "Harsh words, Doctor. Is your opinion of Themis House that strong?" The question comes with a faintly curious tilt of head. "They claim, much like you, to have /had/ no prior knowledge of the -- associations of some of their affiliates." "Themis House is a dis--." Iolaus cuts himself off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in, out. "Themis House and the Mendel Clinic differ in their fundamental relationship to their patients. Themis House seeks to help their patients conseal and deny who they are. A cure, I'm sure, would be something they would happily write out for every one of their patients. "The Mendel Clinic is different. Themis House would prefer that there were no mutants. The Mendel Clinic would prefer that there were no /sick/ mutants - as we would prefer that there were no sick /people/ at all." "Even without direct knowledge of where this treatment was heading, though, surely you must have considered the ramifications of developing this drug at all?" Naseemah's hand lifts once more. "Even with the best of intentions /here/ -- the list of people who would want to obtain a drug like this is lengthy." "Indeed. It was a decision that was weighed by our institutional research board for a long time. But the alternative was simply that we wouldn't be able to help those in need, and the drug would just have been developed without our help. A bad situation versus a worse one." Iolaus says, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I personally pushed heavily with Doctor Toure to not market this research as a medication, but instead hold it back as a trade secret, as well as intentionally design it to be able to be used only for one person at a time." "You personally pushed? So you were aware, then," Naseemah's brows are climbing up her face, "that he had other inclinations? What did you do to ensure this drug didn't get out into general consumption?" "Not at all. In all honesty, I was worried that someone would attempt to break in and steal the research, and I would personally rather that if the research was stolen, it would work only on one person at a time." Iolaus sighs, shaking his head. "The research was conducted by a limited number of researchers here at the clinic, and all the notes restricted heavily to a limited number of people. And, yes, before you ask, Doctor Toure was one of those people." "I doubt working on only one person at a time is quite what the Mutant Incidents Division has in mind." Naseemah taps at her tablet again before reaching for her recorder. "I'd like to thank you for your time, Dr. Saavedro. You've been most helpful." "Which is why I'm glad to say that I do not work for the Mutant Indicents Division. And you have been enlightening, as usual, Ms. Chaudhry." Iolaus says, standing up. "It seems I was correct. Your busyness and mine are certainly related." His voice is wry, though this time at least, he does not smile. "If there's anything else, please let me know. I suspect we will be sending a press release to you in the next day or so with the initial results of our investigation." Naseemah's head tips in a small acknowledging nod. Her hand extends for a firm shake. "Thank you. I hope the rest of your day goes somewhat better, Doctor."