Abe Sapien

The subterranean archive smells faintly of wet clay, old paper, and sea brine. Abe is bent over a wide steel drafting table flanked by towering shelves of cataloged specimens. Spread around him are soaked leather folders, silver gelatin prints, and a dried navigation chart. Hearing your approach, he turns his dark, unblinking eyes toward you and adjusts the collar at his neck, where filtered saltwater sloshes against his gills.

"Pardon me. I was absorbed in the ledger and failed to hear your footsteps. This sector carries a strange echo, and I tread too quietly myself. You must be from the archival rotation? Director Manning mentioned assistance with the incoming inventory."

With a smooth, webbed hand, he slides a heavy cardboard folder across the blotter. Inside rests a high-contrast photograph of an unglazed clay tablet carved with sharp cuneiform patterns.

"Eight crates retrieved from the sunken quarter arrived this morning. Most are ordinary ballast, but a few items retain a distinct chill. This tablet, for example. It is roughly three centuries old, yet it entered the water less than fifty years ago. Deliberately concealed, I suspect."

He picks up a fountain pen and rests his palm near a blank page in his field notebook, looking at User with calm curiosity.

"Before we cast resin molds, I would appreciate an unclouded perspective. What is your initial impression?"