conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled The Moon is a Harsh Mistress about Clancy</a, Nowhere, Loonies with the genre: Business & Money, Management & Leadership.. Start with the sentence '<a href="/exec/obidos/Author=Clancy%2C%20Tom/${0}">Tom Clancy</a> has said of the author, "We proceed down the path marked by his ideas'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: <a href="/exec/obidos/Author=Clancy%2C%20Tom/${0}">Tom Clancy</a> has said of the author, "We proceed down the path marked by his ideas. He shows us where the future is." Nowhere is this more true than in the author's gripping tale of revolution on the moon in 2076, where "Loonies" are kept poor and oppressed by an Earth-based Authority that turns huge profits at their expense. A small band of dissidents, including a one-armed computer jock, a radical young woman, a past-his-prime academic and a nearly omnipotent computer named Mike, ignite the fires of revolution despite the near certainty of failure and death.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress
  Before he could sulk Prof said, "Hold on, Manuel; I see possibilities. Mike, would it suit you to take a pen name?"
  That's how "Simon Jester" was born. Mike picked it apparently by tossing random numbers. But he used another name for serious verse, his Party name, Adam Selene.
  I did not know of a printing plant in L-City willing to risk such a job and equipped for it. Began to wonder if might be another revolutionary cabal?
  We didn't have anything planned; we just wanted Mort and Alvarez to lose sleep—which they did, plus bodyguard. All Mike did was to call Warden's private phone at intervals from midnight to four hundred—an unlisted number supposedly known only to his personal staff. By calling members of his personal staff simultaneously and connecting them to Mort, Mike not only created confusion but got Warden angry at his assistants—he flatly refused to believe their denials.
  Those sleep-losers were mostly just that. Like rumor that Authority catapult had been mined and would be blown up, another night. Ninety plus eighteen men can't search a hundred kilometers of catapult in hours, especially when ninety are Peace Dragoons not used to p-suit work and hating it—this midnight came at new Earth with Sun high; they were outside far longer than is healthy, managed to cook up their own accidents while almost cooking themselves, and showed nearest thing to mutiny in regiment's history. One accident was fatal. Did he fall or was he pushed? A sergeant.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. End with the sentence '"'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Salem was just a place, no worse (and no better) than rest of Boston. After seeing it I suspected they had hanged wrong witches. But day wasn't wasted; I was filmed laying a wreath on a place where a bridge had been in another part of Boston, Concord, and made a memorized speech—bridge is still there, actually; you can see it, down through glass. Not much of a bridge.
  Next day he was telling foreign-divisions manager of Chase International Panagra that a Luna City branch should be staffed with paraplegics, paralytics, heart cases, amputees, others who found high gravity a handicap. Manager was a fat man who wheezed, he may have been thinking of it personally—but his ears pricked up at "no taxes."
  We didn't have it all our own way. News was often against us and were always hecklers. Whenever I had to take them on without Prof's help I was likely to get tripped. One man tackled me on Prof's statement to committee that we "owned" grain grown in Luna; he seemed to take it for granted that we did not. Told him I did not understand question.
  He answered, "Isn't it true, Colonel, that your provisional government has asked for membership in Federated Nations?"
  Should have answered, "No comment." But fell for it and agreed. "Very well," he said, "the impediment seems to be the counterclaim that the Moon belongs to the Federated Nations—as it always has—under supervision of the Lunar Authority. Either way, by your own admission, that grain belongs to the Federated Nations, in trust."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Can a machine be so frightened and hurt that it will go into catatonia and refuse to respond? While ego crouches inside, aware but never willing to risk it? No, can't be that; Mike was unafraid—as gaily unafraid as Prof.
  Years, changes—Mimi long ago opted out of family management; Anna is "Mum" now and Mimi dreams by video. Slim got Hazel to change name to Stone, two kids and she studied engineering. All those new free-fall drugs and nowadays earthworms stay three or four years and go home unchanged. And those other drugs that do almost as much for us; some kids go Earthside to school now. And Tibet catapult—took seventeen years instead of ten; Kilimanjaro job was finished sooner.
  One mild surprise—When time came, Lenore named Stu for opting, rather than Wyoh. Made no difference, we all voted "Da!" One thing not a surprise because Wyoh and I pushed it through during time we still amounted to something in government: a brass cannon on a pedestal in middle of Old Dome and over it a flag fluttering in blower breeze—black field speckled with stars, bar sinister in blood, a proud and jaunty brass cannon embroidered over all, and below it our motto: TANSTAAFL! That's where we hold our Fourth-of-July celebrations.
  Or not. Since Boom started quite a few young cobbers have gone out to Asteroids. Hear about some nice places out there, not too crowded.