ArchivedLogs:Risks

Risks
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Lucien
In Absentia	Tuesday, 24 March, 2020 "The fire or the frying pan." (Part of Future Past TP.)
Location <ATL> Centers for Disease Control
It has been years since Iolaus has had a secretary, but he on days he has to be presentable to someone or other, he borrows one from the Office. It has been years since Iolaus has been important enough to have an office to himself - but, when he has meetings, he is assigned one of the innumerable conference rooms that are spread around the campus of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Today, he is sitting in conference room 5 - a small thing with a rectangular table that could fit six people, if everyone had showered recently, at the end of a long hallway in the bowels of the complex. The secretary, it should be said, doesn't particularly like him. Sitting in the conference room behind the table, Iolaus is dressed in a white lab coat and dress shirt that both look as if they do not get much wear. He has an array of materials in front of him, all with bright orange covers marked with TOP SECRET at the top and bottom. His eyes are focused on a quarter on the table which he spins under the tip of his thumb idly. Bored. Iolaus's secretary must like Lucien, though. By the time he arrives at the pseudo-office it is with a pair of fresh croissants and two cups of tea -- not from a teabag, either; it must have taken some rummaging up. In contrast to Iolaus's white he is dressed dark, a very well-tailored charcoal suit. He nudges the door closed behind him as he enters, slipping without delay over to the table -- over to Iolaus's side of the table -- and setting the tray down, wordlessly. The scent of oolong rises with the steam. "Hello, Mister--" Iolaus' words cut off as soon as his eyes flick up and land on Lucien's face. The doctor freezes for a moment, two, staring uncomprehendingly as his mind grinds in protest as the images in front of him. A complicated dance of emotions flicker over his face - a flash of surprise, a dash of longing, an ache of sadness -- despair, and a spark of a smile, before all are shut behind a professional facade. "Mister Tessier. Well, this is a surprise." Iolaus says, tilting his head to one side and studying the other man. "Forgive me, I'm not in the business of shaking hands these days." Lucien's expression is impassive, bright green eyes meeting Iolaus's unflinchingly. He sets one of the cups in front of the other man. One of the croissants, too. He takes the other pair for himself, settling into a chair beside Iolaus's. "What are you in the business of these days, Doctor?" "Much the same as when the two of us worked together, Mister Tessier. Research, down in a lab. Trying to save the world." The smile that spreads across Iolaus' face has no humor in it at all - indeed, it might as well be painted on. "Or, these days, what's left of it." He pauses, looking at the tea and leaning over to smell it. "And you? Oscorp, I see." The steam rising from the tea smells rich. A sweet flowery oolong. Lucien curls a hand around his own cup, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "Do you /leave/ this lab much, Iolaus? There's quite a lot of world still left out there, I assure you. Most of it thriving, too." He lifts his cup, drawing in a slow breath before his first sip. "I have never been quite so high-minded. Though if they tell me correctly, you're nearly there." There's a hint of a question, in his tone. "Not often, no." Iolaus says, and he picks up his cup. Breathing the smell of the tea, Iolaus lets out a sigh and his shoulders cave inwards slightly. "Is this what I think it is, Lucien?" Iolaus' voice is softer, and he gives the other man a smile as he takes a sip. "Mm. Indeed. You always did know how to play me like a violin. Yes, that's right." Iolaus pushes the folder towards Lucien. "I assume you have the clearance to read this?" "You always have been too much of a workaholic. Who do you have down here to keep you grounded?" Lucien takes another sip from his tea, setting the cup down to one side and resting his fingertips lightly on the file to pull it closer. "They would not have let me in here if I did not. I am meant to facilitate coordination between your organization and ours. Mayor Carruthers said it would be a month or more before things would be ready to go to the camps but --" His other hand turns upward. "That gives time to prepare, non?" "The CDC is not a defense contractor. Classified information is still somewhat of an... artefact of the situation we are in." Iolaus ducks the questions, taking another sip of tea and cupping it in his hands against his chest. "Indeed. Project Eve is in the final phases of clinical testing and simulation. We want to be very careful that the safeguards against mutation I built into it work no matter what pressures are applied externally." Iolaus tilts his head slightly to one side. "Before your organization wipes out what's left of the mutants in this country." This prompts a small chuckle from Lucien. "My organization? And what you're doing here, then, is --?" He gestures with a small flick of fingers down towards the file that he is flipping through, his eyes scanning the pages carefully. "What sorts of external pressures are you predicting? The populations of the camps, at least, are kept suppressed." "You obviously have not read the mortality studies on the deployments of the sentinels." Iolaus says, and there is no laughter in his voice. "If I wanted to develop a virus that /killed/ as many people as that serum does, I would have been done almost as quickly as I started." Iolaus shakes his head and when he picks up, his tone is lecture-like - almost professorial. "I don't mean external pressures in the organized sense. My enemy is mother nature, not the patients themselves. When releasing a disease that is intended to spread through the entire population, it's wise to make sure that it doesn't get a mind of its own." "I have. They are /considerably/ fewer than one hundred percent. Which is," Lucien's head inclines towards the file he is still browsing, "how many mutants your cure intends to rid the world of. It is quite efficient, really." His tone is mild, his expression unchanged as his eyes skim the pages. Linger on one paragraph. He reaches for his tea, sipping it again. "Diseases do not generally mutate overnight. As quick as this is intended to spread, do you imagine that will be much danger?" Iolaus raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. "Perhaps for a sufficiently misguided definition of 'to rid'." The doctor looks into Lucien's face for a moment, sipping at his tea. "No, not really. But there's no telling how long the disease will stick around before immune systems evolve to eliminate it, and I don't want any risk of it getting out of control. Especially as it interacts with mutant abilities, the range of potential evolutionary pressures is very varied. Still, evolution helps us as much as it hurts." Lucien's mouth curls into a very small smile. He sets the file back down on the table, sets his cup back down on the table. "The range of pressures -- this sounds like somewhat of an understatement, non? I mean, we are not just talking about the normal course of nature, here. As I said, the populations of /our/ camps are kept suppressed via weekly treatment regimens but -- there are still quite a lot of mutants in the country who are not. Including, one presumes, some who have /demonstrated/ remarkable ability to mutate pathogens." "Indeed. As both of us remember all too well, I'm sure," Iolaus says, dryly. "But while there are still mutants in this country that your camps haven't managed to kill, the continued risk to the population from the civil war is far greater than even the risk that Vector would mutate this pathogen. I would theorize that his body would simply neutralize it, but..." Iolaus spreads his hands in a shrug. "The fire or the frying pan. The simulations are heavily in favor of this strategy over the one that your superior has been pushing, even risks aside." Lucien offers the file back out towards Iolaus. "Good. I will be here through tomorrow at the least to go over -- what preparation Oscorp will have to take in the next weeks to ready the camps for dispersal. To look over what safety measures your people have taken. I have as little desire as you to see the tolls of the camps continue." Iolaus takes the file back from Lucien, his hands pausing and not withdrawing it away from the other man. He pauses for a second, eyes meeting with Lucien's and mouth partially open as if to speak. A few seconds pass, and then he takes the folder back from the other man and folds it closed. "I will arrange the team to be here to meet you, Mister Tessier." Iolaus says, finally. "We will be ready." Lucien's fingers brush light against Iolaus's, stopping to rest against the backs of the other man's as the folder is closed. "Thank you, Iolaus." His own voice is quiet. His touch comes with a wash of feeling -- soft, at first, a faint trickle of warmth, comfort. Relaxation that eases the mind into soothing acceptance, pleasant happiness. "But that will be tomorrow. Until then -- I think we have quite a bit of catching up to do."