The next day, the slave markets of New Troy were as bustling as ever, with crowds come to gawk at the adult men and women being sold in varying degrees of humiliation. Some were in rags, others wore only loincoths in the summer heat; some wore no clothing at all as their sellers were more cruel than the usual. Rich aristocrats went to and from each stall, buying new 'wares', sometimes as individuals, sometimes in bulk. It seemed that the protests and crowds that had gathered before the Presidential Palace had lost their fire once peace with Nittany was granted. 

But it was not the case. The truth was that the humane elements of society, those who remembered some ember of the past and kept in mind the possibilities of the future, were merely biding their time. Biding their time until they were in a position to win against the reactionary aristocrats.

In another district of the city, at the side of the Hudson River, a set of crude machines were powered by the rushing waters. These machines were not ones of war, but ones of weaving, of making cloth, of using what pre-war designs were left in the city to develop more than weapons. Situated in an old warehouse, these 'power looms' were watched over by a linen-clad priest and several nuns, as well as a metal woman whose sleel skin was mostly hidden by woven cloth. In this mysterious place, the Church of Rights began their quiet revolution, a quiet revolution to make sure that legal, offically-sanctioned, slave labor as one knew it was ended.

The knowledge of the Old World will be regained, whether by pushing the same paths of inquiry, or by rediscovering new knowledge. That is their vow. But for now, the identities of this cast of people need to remain mysterious; it makes for a better story.