conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about Cirrus, Orleans, Massachusetts with the genre: Children's Books, Action & Adventure?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'Off the Grid'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a story titled Off The Grid about span>"Dan, Grid, span with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: <span>"Dan the author's dystopian techno thriller Off the Grid offers us a picture of how a world without easy access to electricity might be"... a " fast-paced thriller "</span>
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Off The Grid
  Leaving, for the moment, the question of exactly why Jassen has chosen this lifestyle, I was interested in the practicalities of car dwelling, the dos and don'ts and the essential gear.
  As it was Saturday night, and despite the cold, Jassen had decided not to go back to the office; instead he wanted to head out of town (easily done in Boulder), park on a mountain road, and wake up to the smells and sounds of nature.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Tony and Steve were trying to decide whether or not to head to the nearby forest to cut firewood. It was not hard to persuade them that they should leave it for another day because it was about to rain. We went back to Steve's place, a converted mobile library a few hundred yards down the road.
  Tony is about five feet six with long, straight, jet-black hair and strong weather-beaten features. He was wearing a jumpsuit of some kind, made of faux suede, adding to his rock-star style. The tan color of the jumpsuit is only a shade lighter than the mud that stretched around us in every direction as the snow melted. From a distance he looked like a Native American warrior. Close up, he has Mick's cheekbones, and Keith's accent and insouciant attitude.
  Tony is a leading light in the Rainbow movement, and he has no ID to speak of beyond a Social Security number he has committed to memory: no passport, no driver's license, no credit card. "I would have to jump through so many hoops to get it," he reasoned.
  The previous year, he said, he had been arrested at the gathering. He had also accused the police of having started a forest fire in order to drive the gathering out of Bridger-Teton National Forest, in Wyoming, an allegation that is still being investigated by the Inspector General. (The 2009 gathering eventually transpired and no arrests were made. Of the twenty thousand or so who attended, organizers estimate that ten to twenty percent had no ID.)
  Living without an ID, Tony said, "is a bit problematic now." He and 230 others were arrested in July 2008 for camping without a license. "I was looking at being sent to Guantánamo," he said, flicking the long hair out of his eyes. "The Forest Service objected to my release for the reason that I had no ID, so I might be a terrorist. It took three hours for a real federal agent to contact his friend at Immigration and find out who I was, because they've got me on file."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Most of the off-gridders I met simply do not believe that there is a sufficient advantage to being inside the fabric of society. But if enough people join the off-grid movement, then society may just have to shift slightly in their direction.
  I hope it is not fear or a sudden crisis that provides the impulse for a growth in the off-grid population. I want to see the rural population growing again, enabled by new technology. I want to see rural America teeming with life, rather than an empty place we drive through along the freeways.
  A sense of joy is what attracted me to life off the grid, not an inward-looking survivalist scenario. It's about taking nature back into our lives, even in an urban context—looking outward, regaining our freedom and control over our own destiny.
  Henry Shawdon kindly read and commented on an early draft, and Nick Osborne provided essential historical research in Chapter 2. Any errors that remain are mine.
  I was grateful to Nigel Carr for his generous advice and Felix Unger-Hamilton, Mark Larkin, and Anne-Katrin Spiess for logistical support. Marcus Ottmers, Ted Norris, Shannon Conley, Pat from Skywalker Farm, Teo Kermeliotis, and Lisa Botter also helped on the research.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Off The Grid
  Roadrunner tugged his robe closer, suddenly cold. His face was chalk white. "Holy shit. How do you piss off terrorists?"
  The first thing that hit you when you walked into City Hall in the morning was the smell of coffee. Gino stopped just inside the door and took a few deep breaths with his eyes closed. Magozzi frowned at him. "What the hell are you doing?"
  Gino took another breath and opened his eyes. "Inhaling caffeine. I'm thinking it might be the only good experience I have today. Besides, I have just detected the very specific odor of one of those Starbucks white mocha things with extra espresso shots. Who the hell in this building has a salary that can afford that?"
  Magozzi scrunched up his nose as he pondered coffee as a pheromone. His only youthful scent memories were all those great, sugary discount store scents his high school dates used to bathe themselves in. Social progress never took the path you'd imagined in your own youth.
  The second thing about City Hall was that the place was always buzzing. This morning, it was more than just buzzing; it was like one of those monster wasps' nests that suddenly appear beneath your garage eaves overnight. But the wasps swirling around the building this morning were mostly the white Anglo-Saxon types.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: That woke Gino up instantly, which did nothing for his eyesight, because Magozzi still looked like a bear. "Are they okay? Where are they?"
  Gino rubbed his eyes, thinking that if he could clear his vision, his thoughts would follow along. "What in the hell?"
  Magozzi shook off the question like an unwanted touch. "We'll find out soon enough. The only good news is she's positive they weren't followed. They've been driving most of the night and barely saw a car once they got out of the city."
  The Chief crouched in front of the hearth and started tossing more logs and paper kindling into the fireplace. "Why off the rez? Your visitors got something against us skins?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The third-generation Zero had only been a part of this elite group for fifteen years, and yet he had seen the astronomical rise of something miraculous, something that had been a mere pipe dream of a man named Donald Buchanan. According to the countdown clock on the wall, two minutes would tell them all if that pipe dream would cross over from the realm of science fiction to reality.
  It took a few moments, and then every person in the room burst into applause as a section of the screen went dark.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Off The Grid
  Jan continued. "In a few minutes, some of our team members will arrive from the desert. You'll leave your car here and they'll take you to our location. Can either of you drive a four-wheeler?"
  SHERIDAN LOVED THE RIDE across the desert in the dark. The wind whipped her hair and the air smelled dry and foreign. Kira was behind her on the seat with her arms around Sheridan's waist.
  Once they left the café and the distant interstate, it was a dark and lonely world: no lights, no roads, no power lines or other signs of human encroachment. The ATV tires kicked up dust and at times Sheridan chose to hang back far enough so that she could see and breathe better. But she never lost sight of the twin taillights of the lead four-wheeler. Her roommate's head was buried into Sheridan's back, and at times Kira squeezed so hard Sheridan had trouble breathing.
  An hour out, she was surprised to find that she was second in the pack and the other volunteers were behind her. She'd noticed before they'd left that a few of the "team members" who delivered the four-wheelers had stayed back at the café, presumably to help load gear and return to the "location" in the truck. And presumably to have a few beers with Cooter as well.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Nate ignored the sounds of panic inside the shed: males scuttling away in a crabwalk from the Syrian, but not yet bold enough to rise up to their feet and run; women crying out and extending their arms as if their bare palms would ward off bullets.
  He knew he had only a second or two more before the Syrian found him and blasted away, hoping for a direct hit through the gaps of the tractor body or for a ricochet that might do the same damage. Either that, or he could shoot his human shield and turn his weapon on the other hostages.
  Nate quickly exchanged the revolvers in his hand so that he had the.454 with the scope in his right. He rose and rested his arm on the cowl of the tractor. The magnified left brown eye of Kira dominated his scope. It blinked with tears.
  That's when Sheridan launched herself at her friend and hugged her around the waist, pulling her down out of the Syrian's grip. Nate moved the weapon slightly until all he could see in the scope was the Syrian's right eye. He fired.
  The Syrian stepped back with only the left half of his head still attached. Sheridan was on top of Kira on the ground, shielding her.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: JOE WAS NEARING CHUGWATER, north of Cheyenne on I-25, when he pulled out his cell phone to call Marybeth. He couldn't wait to get home. It was still hunting season and he wanted to get out on patrol, smell the fall, descend back into some kind of routine.
  It's a sincere pleasure to work with professionals at Putnam, including the legendary Neil Nyren, Ivan Held, Alexis Welby, Christine Ball, and Katie Grinch.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: JOE WAS NEARING CHUGWATER, north of Cheyenne on I-25, when he pulled out his cell phone to call Marybeth. He couldn't wait to get home. It was still hunting season and he wanted to get out on patrol, smell the fall, descend back into some kind of routine.