We'll have to agree to disagree on that. I still think the world needs a strong leader, capable of making the hard decisions and enforcing them.
“And if the people... the citizens of the world didn't comply? What then? Would you start depriving them of services? Target them with an automated air strike? What happens when some bloke in Kent or Kentucky or Kurdistan decides he's going to keep his crops to himself? Does he become an enemy of the state?” Dill carved off another piece of dough flesh. “You'd force the twenty-first century to go offline and retreat to off-the grid communities. You'd be ushering in a tide of feudal plutocracies and oligarchies. You'd become the progenitor of a new dark age.”
Don't be ridiculous.
“It's true.” Dill frowned at himself in the screen, setting the textpad to the background while he looked at his camera image. “Does my head look any different to you? I've scraped away a pound or more of dough. We should be able to see at least one of the sigils by now.”
Here. Look at the still images played one after another.
Dill's fingers – Sam's fingers, really – flowed over the keyboard like a professional secretary. A new window opened up and loaded with fifty or so images of Dill's head as he stared into the camera. He watched himself take off a slice of flesh then before he'd even returned the fish slice for another pass the dough flowed over the wound and repaired it. His heart sank. “I'm self repairing.”
You're self something. Keep doing this and you'll eventually be two inches high with a hundred pound pile of wasted dough.
“Let's try something else..”