conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Road, Omaha, Hawk entitled The Road to Omaha.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Road to Omaha: Several years after the events of The Road to Gandolfo, the Hawk has discovered a long-forgotten treaty between the US government and a tribe of Native Americans.\nThis treaty granted the tribe a vast area of land that has since become Omaha, Nebraska, and includes the home of the Strategic Air Command at Offutt Air Base.\nPosing as a member of the tribe, the Hawk plans to bring suit against the United States and force it to give the land to the tribe.\nTo further this goal, he ropes Devereaux (now retired from the military) into representing the tribe in court.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: \nThis treaty granted the tribe a vast area of land that has since become Omaha, Nebraska, and includes the home of the Strategic Air Command at Offutt Air Base.\nPosing as a member of the tribe, the Hawk plans to bring suit against the United States and force it to give the land to the tribe.\nTo further this goal, he ropes Devereaux (now retired from the military) into representing the tribe in court.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Road to Omaha
  The microphones were turned off once again while the justices conferred. At last, the seemingly emaciated judge from New England spoke. "That was a moving peroration, Chief Thunder Head," he said quietly, "but such accusations could be made on behalf of numerous minorities everywhere. History isn't kind to these people, much to my personal regret. As one of our Presidents said, 'Life isn't fair,' but it must go on for the betterment of the majority, not the unfortunate minorities who suffer. We all wish with all our hearts that we could change that scenario, but it's beyond our providence. The 'brutality of history' was the way Schopenhauer described it. I loathe his conclusion but I recognize its reality. You could open floodgates that might drown whole communities across the country far, far in excess of the litigants."
  News of the Wopotami triumph reached the lobby and the steps of the Supreme Court in a matter of minutes. Chief Thunder Head, in full regalia, strode down the marble corridor toward the great hall expecting the adulation and the celebration of his people. A celebration was, indeed, in progress, but what the celebration was about appeared somewhat irrelevant to the celebrants. The huge gallery was filled with men and women of all ages, dancing, prancing, from awkward waltzes to hard rock, the participants whirling and wiggling to the recorded sounds of upgraded, speeded-up versions of original Indian chants from enormous speakers. Even the guards, the tourists, and the D.C. police joined partners hither and yon; the revered great hall was the scene of a wild carnival.
  Washington, D.C., Friday—In a stunning decision, the Supreme Court has upheld the legitimacy of a suit brought by the Wopotami tribe of Nebraska against the government of the United States. The Court, in a unanimous decision, held that a territory of several hundred square miles in and around Omaha is the rightful property of the Wopotamis, according to a treaty affirmed by the Forty-ninth Congress in 1878. This land includes the headquarters of the Strategic Air Command. The Senate and the House of Representatives have been called back into emergency session, and attorneys from several thousand law firms have expressed interest in the forthcoming negotiations.
  Beverly Hills, Wednesday—Messrs. Robbins and Martin, top execs at the William Morris Agency, have announced that a major deal has been concluded between their clients, known at this juncture only as six terrif actors who've been toiling for the government as an antiterrorist unit for the past five years, and Consolidated-Colossal Studios, Emmanuel Greenberg, producer, for a $100,000,000 pic starring their clients who'll be 'picting themselves. At the press conference held at Merv's Place, that great legit character actor, Henry Irving Sutton, made an appearance, stating that he was so moved by the property he was coming out of retirement to play a major role. Apparently Greenberg was also mucho moved—he intermittently wept, too choked up to speak. Many at the press outing said it was because he was so proud, but others maintained it was due to the negotiations. Greenberg's former wife, Lady Cavendish, was also present. She kept smiling.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Road to Omaha
  The microphones were turned off once again while the justices conferred. At last, the seemingly emaciated judge from New England spoke. "That was a moving peroration, Chief Thunder Head," he said quietly, "but such accusations could be made on behalf of numerous minorities everywhere. History isn't kind to these people, much to my personal regret. As one of our Presidents said, 'Life isn't fair,' but it must go on for the betterment of the majority, not the unfortunate minorities who suffer. We all wish with all our hearts that we could change that scenario, but it's beyond our providence. The 'brutality of history' was the way Schopenhauer described it. I loathe his conclusion but I recognize its reality. You could open floodgates that might drown whole communities across the country far, far in excess of the litigants."
  News of the Wopotami triumph reached the lobby and the steps of the Supreme Court in a matter of minutes. Chief Thunder Head, in full regalia, strode down the marble corridor toward the great hall expecting the adulation and the celebration of his people. A celebration was, indeed, in progress, but what the celebration was about appeared somewhat irrelevant to the celebrants. The huge gallery was filled with men and women of all ages, dancing, prancing, from awkward waltzes to hard rock, the participants whirling and wiggling to the recorded sounds of upgraded, speeded-up versions of original Indian chants from enormous speakers. Even the guards, the tourists, and the D.C. police joined partners hither and yon; the revered great hall was the scene of a wild carnival.
  Washington, D.C., Friday—In a stunning decision, the Supreme Court has upheld the legitimacy of a suit brought by the Wopotami tribe of Nebraska against the government of the United States. The Court, in a unanimous decision, held that a territory of several hundred square miles in and around Omaha is the rightful property of the Wopotamis, according to a treaty affirmed by the Forty-ninth Congress in 1878. This land includes the headquarters of the Strategic Air Command. The Senate and the House of Representatives have been called back into emergency session, and attorneys from several thousand law firms have expressed interest in the forthcoming negotiations.
  Beverly Hills, Wednesday—Messrs. Robbins and Martin, top execs at the William Morris Agency, have announced that a major deal has been concluded between their clients, known at this juncture only as six terrif actors who've been toiling for the government as an antiterrorist unit for the past five years, and Consolidated-Colossal Studios, Emmanuel Greenberg, producer, for a $100,000,000 pic starring their clients who'll be 'picting themselves. At the press conference held at Merv's Place, that great legit character actor, Henry Irving Sutton, made an appearance, stating that he was so moved by the property he was coming out of retirement to play a major role. Apparently Greenberg was also mucho moved—he intermittently wept, too choked up to speak. Many at the press outing said it was because he was so proud, but others maintained it was due to the negotiations. Greenberg's former wife, Lady Cavendish, was also present.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'The man at the railing whipped both his hands up to his head, arching backward under the impact of the fourth bullet'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The man at the railing whipped both his hands up to his head, arching backward under the impact of the fourth bullet. The trawler's bow dipped suddenly into the valley of two giant waves, lifting the wounded man off his feet; he twisted to his left, unable to take his hands away from his head. The boat surged upward, bow and midships more out of the water than in it, sweeping the figure in the doorway back into the cabin; a fifth gunshot fired wildly. The wounded man screamed, his hands now lashing out at anything he could grasp, his eyes blinded by blood and the unceasing spray of the sea. There was nothing he could grab, so he grabbed at nothing; his legs buckled as his body lurched forward. The boat rolled violently leeward and the man whose skull was ripped open plunged over the side into the madness of the darkness below.
  He felt rushing cold water envelop him, swallowing him, sucking him under, and twisting him in circles, then propelling him up to the surface—only to gasp a single breath of air. A gasp and he was under again.
  And there was heat, a strange moist heat at his temple that seared through the freezing water that kept swallowing him, a fire where no fire should burn. There was ice, too; an ice-like throbbing in his stomach and his legs and his chest, oddly warmed by the cold sea around him. He felt these things, acknowledging his own panic as he felt them. He could see his own body turning and twisting, arms and feet working frantically against the pressures of the whirlpool. He could feel, think, see, perceive panic and struggle—yet strangely there was peace. It was the calm of the observer, the uninvolved observer, separated from the events, knowing of them but not essentially involved.
  It happened. The explosion was massive; he could hear it through the clashing waters and the wind, the sight and the sound somehow his doorway to peace. The sky lit up like a fiery diadem and within that crown of fire, objects of all shapes and sizes were blown through the light into the outer shadows.
  Suddenly he was plummeting downward again, into an abyss again. He could feel the rushing waters crash over his shoulders, cooling the white-hot heat at his temple, warming the ice-cold incisions in his stomach and his legs and....
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.. End with the sentence ' He then inserted a small piece of celluloid behind the lens.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The man sat forward in the chair. His open shirt fell away from his taut frame, exposing the bandages on his chest and stomach. He folded his hands in front of him, the veins in his slender, muscular arms pronounced. "Other than the things we've talked about?"
  The man leaned back in the chair, dark eyebrows below the dark brown hair joined in irritation. "Now it's the physician's judgment that isn't called for. I'm ready. What are you talking about?"
  The man got out of the chair with difficulty, pushing himself up with his arms, holding his breath as he rose. "It's also possible that you're reaching. You could be way out of line."
  The man with no name or memory went to the window and lowered the blind; the room was dark. Washburn snapped on the projector's light; a bright square appeared on the white wall. He then inserted a small piece of celluloid behind the lens.