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DXC Technology (DXC) has been grinding through a tough stretch, with the stock down sharply this year even as recent weeks show a modest rebound. That mix of pressure and recovery is exactly what makes the setup interesting right now.

See our latest analysis for DXC Technology.

With the share price now around $13.70, the recent 7 day share price return of 4.5% and 30 day gain of 3.24% look more like a short term bounce than a reversal, given the year to date share price decline of 30.63% and 1 year total shareholder return of 39.11%.

If DXC has you rethinking where momentum and ownership really line up, this could be a good moment to explore fast growing stocks with high insider ownership.

With revenues shrinking, profits under pressure, and a hefty intrinsic value discount implied, are markets overly pessimistic about DXC Technology, or is the current share price already correctly pricing in limited future growth potential?

DXC Technology’s most followed valuation narrative puts fair value slightly above the recent 13.70 dollar close, hinting at modest upside if its muted outlook plays out.

The analysts have a consensus price target of 15.625 dollars for DXC Technology based on their expectations of its future earnings growth, profit margins and other risk factors. However, there is a degree of disagreement amongst analysts, with the most bullish reporting a price target of 18.0 dollars, and the most bearish reporting a price target of just 14.0 dollars.

Read the complete narrative.

Want to see why a shrinking top line, thinner margins, and lower future earnings still support a higher price tag? The key lies in how the narrative balances declining profitability, steady buybacks, and a richer future earnings multiple. Curious which assumptions really carry this valuation story? Dive in to unpack the cash flow path, margin profile, and discount rate that hold it all together.

Result: Fair Value of $14.50 (UNDERVALUED)

Have a read of the narrative in full and understand what’s behind the forecasts.

However, persistent GIS revenue declines and fierce competition from digital natives could derail the turnaround narrative if new contracts fail to offset churn.

Find out about the key risks to this DXC Technology narrative.

If you are not fully convinced by this perspective, or simply want to dig into the numbers yourself, you can build a custom view in minutes: Do it your way.

A great starting point for your DXC Technology research is our analysis highlighting 3 key rewards and 2 important warning signs that could impact your investment decision.

Before you move on, lock in your next smart lead by using the Simply Wall St Screener to uncover high conviction opportunities you do not want to overlook.

This article by Simply Wall St is general in nature. We provide commentary based on historical data and analyst forecasts only using an unbiased methodology and our articles are not intended to be financial advice. It does not constitute a recommendation to buy or sell any stock, and does not take account of your objectives, or your financial situation. We aim to bring you long-term focused analysis driven by fundamental data. Note that our analysis may not factor in the latest price-sensitive company announcements or qualitative material. Simply Wall St has no position in any stocks mentioned.

Companies discussed in this article include DXC.

Have feedback on this article? Concerned about the content? Get in touch with us directly. Alternatively, email editorial-team@simplywallst.com

In November, Norwegian had 1.5 million passengers, while Widerøe had 324,000 passengers, bringing the Group total to 1.84 million passengers. The November load factor of 85.5 percent was a record high for Norwegian.

“We had a strong performance overall during November. The load factor for Norwegian is the highest we have ever recorded for this month, showing that the network and capacity adjustments we made for the winter season are making a positive impact. We are also pleased with an increase in the unit revenue in November for Norwegian, and that operational performance continues to be solid into the winter season,” said Geir Karlsen, CEO of Norwegian.

Norwegian’s capacity (ASK) in November was 2,404 million seat kilometres, down 6 percent from last year. Actual passenger traffic (RPK) for Norwegian was 2,055 million seat kilometres, a decline of 2 percent. The load factor was 85.5 percent, up 3 percentage points. Norwegian operated an average of 75 aircraft during November.

Widerøe’s capacity (ASK) in November was 161 million seat kilometres, a decline of 2 percent from last year. The actual passenger traffic (RPK) for Widerøe was 113 million seat kilometres, while the load factor was 70.3 percent, down 1.4 percentage points.

Norwegian and Widerøe’s punctuality, defined as the share of flights departing within 15 minutes of scheduled time, was 82.3 percent and 79.8 percent respectively. Regularity, measured by the share of scheduled flights taking place, was 99.7 percent for Norwegian and 94 percent for Widerøe. Widerøe’s operational performance during the month was impacted by harsh winter weather conditions.

Christmas holidays and strong booking momentum

With the end of the year and Christmas nearing, Norwegian and Widerøe both report that flights for the holidays are filling up quickly.

“We are well prepared for a busy holiday period and see solid demand for Christmas travel, both for domestic, city and beach destinations. The most popular dates are filling up fast, and we are all looking forward to bringing our passengers to their Christmas destinations. The booking momentum remains encouraging well into the beginning of next year, with more tickets sold than at the same point last year,” said Geir Karlsen.

During November, Norwegian launched several new routes for the 2026 summer programme. Among the 30 new routes are:

• Las Palmas, from both Bergen and Stavanger
• Lamezia, from Oslo (the airline’s 16th route between Norway and Italy)
• Zurich, from Oslo
• Tbilisi, from Copenhagen
• Tirana, from Helsinki
• Montpellier, from Stockholm

A separate press release on Widerøe’s traffic figures is available in the Widerøe media centre (In Norwegian only).

I feel my travel-scrunched spine start to straighten as I stretch out on the plump mattress, a quilted blanket wrapped around me and a pillow beneath my head. As bedtime routines go, however, this one involves a novel step – placing my lower legs in a mesh bag and clipping it into seatbelt-style buckles on either side; the bed will be travelling at around 50mph for the next 12 hours and there are safety regulations to consider.

Last month Swiss startup Twiliner launched a fleet of futuristic sleeper buses, and I’ve come to Amsterdam to try them out. Running three times a week between Amsterdam and Zurich (a 12-hour journey via Rotterdam, Brussels, Luxembourg and Basel), with a Zurich to Barcelona service (via Berne and Girona) launching on 4 December, the company’s flat-bed overnight sleeper buses are the first such service in Europe.

“Flying is one of the main drivers of climate change. We wanted to design an alternative that people would actually want to use,” the company’s co-founder and CEO, Luca Bortolani, told me before Twiliner’s launch. Their solution is a seat that turns into a genuinely comfortable bed. Manufactured by Greater Manchester-based Airline Services Interiors, it’s similar to a business class plane seat.

Hoping for more shut-eye than red-eye, I lean into that luxury. While I could shorten my journey by taking a Eurostar from London to Brussels and catching the Twiliner there, I’m going London to Amsterdam, and trialling the full Zurich route. With Eurostar adding a fifth direct weekday service to Amsterdam this month, it’s a good alternative connecting hub for UK travellers venturing further into Europe.

As viewers of Race Across the World will know, flatbed buses are common in Asia and South America, but they have been less successful in Europe. Twiliner hopes to change this by offering a service that’s both comfortable and sustainable. Run mostly on hydrotreated vegetable oil fuel (HVO, also called renewable diesel), the company claims its buses produce less than 10% of the CO₂ emissions of a comparable flight. Even when running on normal diesel, which sometimes the buses have to, a Twiliner bus is as sustainable as a sleeper train per passenger kilometre, it says.

Currently operating three buses – one for each launch route plus a third for private charters – Twiliner hopes to offer 25 routes by 2028, possibly even adding a UK service. Though not exclusively targeting routes without sleeper trains, “our niche will be routes where lots of people travel and you don’t have a night train, or good connections,” said Bortolani.

A generous luggage allowance and the efficiency of being able to travel while asleep are pluses. These benefits (plus the novelty factor) aside, the biggest selling point is likely to be the comfort factor.

The blip on this journey is boarding at Amsterdam’s outdoor bus station in Sloterdijk, a five-minute train ride from Amsterdam Centraal station. Standing in the dark, a chill wind chasing through the open space, I’m not entirely sure I’m in the right place. But then I spot a flash of violet and the bus arrives, navigating its huge bulk like a cruise liner inching into a small fishing harbour. The doors open and the lights on the Twiliner’s steps glow a soft, spaceship purple as I climb aboard.

Downstairs are three seats, a spacious toilet, a changing room and self-service shelves selling eye masks, toothbrushes and snacks; ear plugs, coffee and wifi are free. I’m on the upper deck, in one of 18 seats with lofty views as well as USB ports. As we leave Amsterdam lights flicker in high-rise windows around me like colonies of square glow worms, and I click on the QR code by my seat to find instructions for my bed.

Around me there is much excitement but the chatter soon dies down. A no-children-under-five policy and strict guidelines on food, drink and noise make for calm travelling. By 10pm I’m fast asleep only waking at 5.30am in high heat (a teething issue Twiliner is ironing out) and lie back, dozing like a very overgrown baby being wheeled along in a cushioned pram, until the sun rises and the temperature drops.

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There’s a magic to falling asleep in one country and waking in another. Rolling into Zurich on a frosty weekday morning, the city is streaked with silver and gold as it begins to stir. By the bus’s Nespresso machine I chat to Adrien, a student from St Gallen university. “It’s not quicker. It’s not cheaper. But it’s another option, and it’s a good one,” he says. “I slept. I feel rested.”

Just over 25 hours after leaving my home in Somerset, a good chunk of which I’ve slept through, I arrive at Zurich’s Sihlquai bus station. Soaking up sunshine, I walk the 10 minutes to my hotel via the Christmas market on Europaallee, stopping for a hot, cinnamon-dusted Öpfuchüechli (apple doughnut) at one of its wooden booths.

Along the river, the art-lined Helvetia hotel extols the virtues of its hand-stitched Hästens mattresses, designed to ensure its guests a restful night’s sleep. There’s one thing their beds can’t promise, though: to transport me, magic carpet-style, to a new destination the following morning.

The trip was provided by Twiliner and Eurostar. Twiliner tickets between Amsterdam and Zurich cost from 150 Swiss francs (£141). Eurostar tickets from London to Amsterdam from £229 each way in Premier – which includes fast-track check-in and lounge at St Pancras, with breakfast and wifi – or from £39 in standard class. Hotel Helvetia in Zurich has double rooms from 169 Swiss francs (£160) B&B

Vegetables, in my experience, rarely cause controversy. Yet last month I found myself in the middle of a legal storm over who gets to own the word sabzi – the Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi, Persian, Dari and Pashto word for cooked veg or fresh greens. It was a story as absurd as it was stressful, a chain of delis threatened me with legal action over the title of a book I had spent years creating. But what began as a personal legal headache soon morphed into something bigger, a story about how power and privilege still dominate conversations about cultural ownership in the UK.

When the email first landed in my inbox, I assumed it must be a wind-up. My editor at Bloomsbury had forwarded a solicitor’s letter addressed to me personally, care of my publishers. As I read it, my stomach dropped. A deli owner from Cornwall accused me of infringing her intellectual property over my cookbook Sabzi: Fresh Vegetarian Recipes for Every Day. Why? Because in 2022, she had trademarked the word sabzi to use for her business and any future products, including a cookbook she hoped to write one day.

My jaw clenched as I pored over pages of legal documentation, written in the punitive and aggressive tone of a firm gearing up for a fight. I was accused of “misrepresentation” (copying the deli’s brand), damaging its business and affecting its future growth, and they demanded detailed commercial reports about my work, including sales revenue, stock numbers and distribution contracts – information so intrusive that it felt like an audit. Buried in the legal jargon was a line that shook me. They reserved the right to seek the “destruction” of all items relating to their infringement claim. Reading the threat of my book being pulped was nothing short of devastating. It was also utterly enraging.

Because sabzi isn’t some cute exotic brand name, it’s part of the daily lexicon of more than a billion people across cultures and borders. In south Asia, it simply means cooked vegetables. Shout it loudly in any household and someone will instinctively start chopping. For Iranians, sabzi refers to fresh herbs and greens and is part of the national psyche. Iran’s national dish is ghormeh sabzi, a fragrant herb-laden stew, and sabzi is the scent of Nowruz, the Persian New Year, where we eat herbed rice and grow fresh greens as a symbol of rebirth and renewal. As someone of both Pakistani and Iranian heritage, when I first had the idea of writing a vegetarian cookbook back in 2017, I knew that I wanted to call it sabzi to honour the two food cultures I grew up with.

But back to the deli’s threats. My publishers sought legal advice – which was clear: the claims were overreaching and we should fight them. Book titles can’t actually be trademarked and common cultural words should be exempt from intellectual property law (can you imagine if someone tried to trademark common food words like curry, pasta or tapas?) The evidence of alleged business harm was weak, amounting to a few emails from customers who seemingly couldn’t differentiate between the deli owner and my name on the cover of the book. The legal team responded robustly, and I stepped away imagining we’d hear more in a few weeks. Then everything exploded.

One morning, I opened Instagram to find I was subject of a pile-on accusing me of copying the deli by calling my cookbook Sabzi. I noticed an unusual pattern in the people sending me aggressive messages: they were all women, all white, and all from Cornwall. I traced the comments back to the deli’s page and saw the owner had posted publicly about the legal action, naming me and framing it as a David-v-Goliath battle. This puzzled me, as business chains generally do rather better financially than food writers. Her statement also described herself as a “mother of two”, a detail that was later repeated in press coverage as though maternity itself conferred some kind of moral authority. As someone who has written extensively about infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss, I found the framing jarring. There are many places in the world where motherhood shapes your vulnerability – Sudan, say, or Gaza. But a privately educated deli owner, related by marriage to the former prime minister Clement Attlee, taking legal action against a writer over the title of a book whose title just means “vegetables” is not one of those situations.

The deli owner was working with a PR company to amplify her case so it wasn’t long before local and national journalists started getting in touch. I was dumbfounded as to why the case was being escalated in public, outside legal channels, but it was clear that she was determined to heighten the dispute. She reported my book for trademark infringement on Amazon and overnight it disappeared from the world’s biggest bookseller. Say what you like about Amazon (and I often do), but most books are bought there, particularly in the run-up to Christmas, so it’s an important platform for authors.

My editor explained that under Amazon’s policies, only the complainant can revoke an infringement claim, which meant we could be waiting months – possibly until after court proceedings – for my book to reappear online. It was around that time that I stopped being able to sleep. The stress wasn’t abstract any more, it was a direct threat to my livelihood.

It was then – in a twist that still feels ridiculous to write – that a letter arrived from the Duchy of Cornwall, one of the monarchy’s oldest feudal estates, on behalf of the deli owner as her landlord. The letter argued in support of the deli’s right to trademark the word sabzi, a plot twist so colonial that I had to check whether the East India Company had been revived. I didn’t have “correspondence with Prince William’s estate about vegetables” on my 2025 bingo card and wondered what would come next. A note from King Charles demanding a Tupperware of leftovers?

When a private estate providing income to the crown becomes involved in a legal dispute over the ownership of an Asian word for veg, the legacy of the entitlement at the heart of British colonialism is laid bare. And really, for me, it felt as if colonial entitlement were at the heart of this case. Throughout the saga, some argued that because the deli owner had some Iranian heritage (her father is from Iran and her mother is British), the dispute wasn’t about cultural appropriation. But people of colour know that heritage alone doesn’t guarantee solidarity. British politics offers its own examples of this – Priti Patel, whose family fled persecution in Uganda, and Suella Braverman, whose parents were economic migrants to the UK, have used some of the most inflammatory rhetoric against refugees and migrants in recent memory. You can share a heritage yet and still uphold the power dynamics of privilege.

Because my lawyers advised silence, I couldn’t comment publicly. My friends, however, made up for it. Desi WhatsApp during a scandal is its own news channel: one half outrage, one half jokes about your ancestors rising from the grave. Their fury was laced with a weariness, though. When words born in our grandmothers’ kitchens become entangled in legal battles backed by establishment power, something has gone seriously wrong.

Because this case is part of a much bigger pattern. For decades, companies in the global north, backed by western intellectual property laws, have attempted to control or commercialise food terms and ingredients from the global south. In the UK, the restaurant chain Pho sparked widespread outrage when it issued cease-and-desist letters to other Vietnamese restaurants for using the word “pho” in their names and later withdrew its trademark after public pressure.

A similar backlash ensued after the celebrity chef David Chang’s Momufuku empire attempted to trademark “chili crunch”, a spicy condiment popular in east Asian homes, or when the US company RiceTec tried to patent “basmati”, the name of a rice grown in, and deeply entwined, with the heritage of India and Pakistan.

Farmers and activists in the global south have also fought numerous biopiracy cases, not over words, but over seeds and plants. The examples raise the same questions about who gets to own and profit from traditional food culture. Monsanto’s patent relating to the use of Nap Hal wheat for chapati flour was later revoked; the Dutch company Health and Performance Food International secured patents over teff, Ethiopia’s 4,000-year-old staple grain (though these were later ruled invalid); and South Africa defeated attempts to trademark rooibos tea – yielding its manufacturers geographic rights over the term, in the same way that champagne, Darjeeling tea and Colombian coffee are protected descriptions.

Farmers in the global south have long argued that these cases and attempts represent a new form of colonial extraction, carried out not by armies but by intellectual property and patent lawyers. For those of us in diasporas, these ingredients and words carry a different but equally emotional weight. They are bridges to our families, our histories and our identities.

If my friends embraced me privately during this ordeal, the food world embraced me openly. As the news of the dispute spread, some of the UK’s most respected food writers rallied, with Rukmini Iyer, Rachel Roddy, Catherine Phipps, Olia Hercules, Debora Robertson and Nigella Lawson (among many more) posting clear-eyed arguments about why food culture belongs to everyone. It was incredibly moving to see others speak the words I could not and I’m for ever indebted to those who, through no ask from me, leapt to my defence. I suspect this happened because the food world is, by nature, collaborative. We blurb each other’s books and publicise the work of our peers. Food, after all, is a conduit to sharing. But also, I think it’s because we know that there is plenty of room for people working on similar themes to thrive. Just look at how many air-fryer cookbooks exist.

As public pressure grew, the tone behind the scenes began to shift. I was informed that the deli would drop the case and withdraw the trademark, a quiet admission that it should never have been sought or granted. To my relief the book was reinstated with online retailers and although there has been no apology or statement reflecting on lessons, it’s still a win for all of us who do not want our cultures to be commodified.

I hope the case leads to reflection in the UK trademark office and that training is introduced so that examiners develop greater cultural literacy. There also need to be safeguards against privatising common words and clearer routes of appeal. Food is something we share, not something we own, and it should stay in the hands of all those who keep it alive.