will1@earthling.net Fanged Butterfly Vol. 2: Knightcross Chapter 34 by Phil Hartman DISCLAIMER: Marvel's are Marvel's. LFL's are LFL's. Any original characters are mine. The rest belong to their owners/creators. No money is being made off of this. Please don't sue. WARNING: Themes, imagery, some violence. --------------------------------------------------- 40 ABY: En Route to Bastion System, Imperial Remnant, Outer Rim Territories, Galactic East: 23 Days after the Battle of Corellia: --------------------------------------------------- The departure from Mandalore had been without incident; Betsy was glad for the goodwill, or at least lack of ill will, from the Mandalorians, and that the trip was going well so far. But now they had to turn Threepio back on ... Ben looked a little hurt when he sensed Betsy's hesitation, and she smiled sadly as she sent, ~I'm sorry, but you have to admit that he CAN be overbearing ...~ /I know, but he saved me from the Vong on Coruscant when I was a baby. Threepio cares, Aunt Betsy; and you said you like his accent,/ Ben sent back, checking the protocol droid's circuit breakers ... and the whir and sudden rush of a familiar British accent filling the cabin made Betsy feel a LITTLE badly. "- can't understand WHY I need to - oh! Master Ben, THANK you! I was trying to convince Artoo not to use that droid controller on my ... wait, where IS my restraining bolt?" Threepio asked, as Artoo turned an accusing eye to Betsy. /You DIDN'T,/ Ben accused - but fighting a smile, as Betsy radiated apology into the Force and smiled sheepishly at Artoo. ~Well, how was I going to convince Threepio that he had to be shut down without going to the dark side? He ANNOYS me, Ben, familiar accent or not. I'm sorry, but he's not THAT pleasant to listen to after the umpteenth time,~ Betsy sighed, as Artoo burbled disapprovingly. "BWOOOT Dwoodle RAAAT," Artoo finally snapped, and Betsy sighed, while Threepio looked between them in confusion. "Don't blame Master Braddock for YOUR delusions of grandeur, you felonious megalomaniac! Your roles as the Skywalker family chronicler and repair chief may be important, but your arrogance is INSUFFERABLE!" Threepio huffed, and Ben looked accusingly at Betsy. ~All RIGHT,~ she sent; the boy WAS correct, even if he was the Padawan and she was the Master. Betsy SHOULD tell Threepio the truth and set a good example. There had been Force knew enough such learning moments when K'urod had been Betsy's Padawan ... "Blworroo tuwoot woroo," Artoo interrupted, and Betsy looked both relieved AND put out, as Threepio flung his arms up and all but gasped. "WHY would my shutdown be necessary to negotiate with Mandalore Fett!?" Threepio asked, but Artoo just whistled something which made the golden droid wince. "Oh dear. The Mandalorian Ritual of Protocol Droid Sacrifice ... I shall have to update my Mandalorian entry ... I should thank you, then, Artoo ... " Threepio fussed. Betsy was grateful for a half second, until she got a private comm message from Artoo ... and scowled at what the astromech was demanding for his silence. #FINE. Paying for his oil baths for a month ... little extortionist. Probably the expensive end stuff,# Betsy thought, nodding her assent reluctantly. "Root twoodle rootoootooo!!" Artoo burbled merrily, and Ben looked ... well, a little happier, as he sat in the co-pilot's seat and Daala and Liegius left the bedroom. "Welcome back to the land of the conversationalists, See Threepio. Looking forward to smoothing out any rough edges with our hosts?" Liegius asked, and Betsy bit back an urge to curse the holotech ... Threepio launched into a longwinded speech about how GOOD it would be to be of use, and Ben smiled gratefully at Betsy. /Thanks. It really means a lot to me,/ the boy sent, and Betsy felt ... a little better. ~I'll try to be more patient with Threepio. But if I get a glazed look in my eyes and go for my lightsaber ... ~ Betsy warned. /I've got a Force lock on his motivator switch,/ Ben promised, and Betsy grinned at her Padawan. The boy WAS learning. "Master Braddock, I had a ... request before we part ways. You mentioned earlier a certain holofile in your possession, which I was hoping to ask to copy," Daala asked, and Betsy eyed the ex-admiral warily. Then the telepath sensed WHAT file Daala wanted ... and they shared probably the only smile they ever would. "I believe I can accomodate you ..." Betsy offered ... --------------------------------------------------- The approach to Bastion was far faster than the one to Mandalore; the Angel's Wing had a functioning transponder, and the Remnant's intel department HAD to know why the unusual party were headed for the capitol world. Well, either that, or the Imps were bloody confident that they had enough firepower to deal with two Jedi, two droids, and ... well, Daala. Betsy checked herself at that; NOBODY had enough firepower to deal with Daala. And if Ben shouted loudly enough ... #No. Even the most treacherous Moff doesn't deserve the Phoenix down on their heads,# Betsy thought, fighting back a smirk as she landed at the Imperial headquarters in the capital city of Ravelin. What she hadn't QUITE expected was a massive welcoming party of rows of stormtroopers and Imperial officers in their best uniforms, with a knot of black-uniformed Moffs around a blatantly white-uniformed figure atop a small platform at the far end of the landing platform. "Like they're expecting a head of state, or ... a returning hero?" Ben tried to analyze, and Betsy radiated approval; the boy was thinking ahead. And Betsy's wariness where Daala was concerned rose a notch. It COULD be Pellaeon extending a hand in greeting, one Imperial Naval veteran to another ... but the Remnant was the Remnant. And if they had to know about Ben's access to the Phoenix, he was a valuable commodity ... ~Ben. Stay close and follow my lead. If we can get offworld quickly, I want to; something's not right here. It's not the Imperials themselves, but ... something else,~ Betsy warned. /Gotcha, Aunt Betsy. I feel something weird in the Force, too, like ... like when Jacen cloaked himself, but different,/ Ben worried. Betsy brought the Wing in for a landing, and told Neal, "Sorry, old friend, but I need you to keep the ship ready for a quick liftoff." Neal toodled something bland, and triggered the hatch as Betsy and Ben checked themselves; they were in full Jedi robes, no need to worry about ruffling Imperial feathers as with the Mandalorians. Daala and Liegius were in dressy civilian garb, pants and shirts both. The idea of Daala in a dress or skirt ALMOST made Betsy laugh, but now really wasn't the time for humor. "If you like, you can lead the way down," Betsy offered, but Daala merely smiled that eerie smile and politely declined. "I'm uncertain if I'm that expected, even with Bastion's intelligence division. The ... impact might be heightened, were you to proceed us. And really, the greeting IS for you, I expect," Daala said, far too tamely. Ben tried not to gulp TOO loudly, and Betsy telepathically ruffled his mental hair, as he took a position to her immediate right rear; Threepio and Artoo would follow, with Daala and Liegius behind them. Phenirr would be offloaded in due course. Betsy was willing to let the Imperial flight techs handle THAT affair. The hatch finished cycling, and Betsy led the way, admiring the snap of stormtrooper and lesser officer heels as the crowd of Imperials came to attention. Full honors, then ... It WAS a little flattering, even if there were too few British accents among the GA and too many in the Remnant to make Betsy entirely happy to visit Bastion. It was like a twisted version of a society ball filtered through a military school. Both parts of high British society IRKED Betsy, badly ... and maybe she was just too much a Rebel to really LIKE Imps. Except for old Gil, of course; he was kindly and cunning. But she could play the game, and smiled confidently; if Master Braddock was known for wild parties with Mandalorians, she was ALSO known as a warrior among the Jedi ... and others. She began walking toward the far platform, mentally keeping track of Ben, who was admirably keeping his eyes and Force senses wide open; Threepio and Artoo were quiet, mercifully ... and the whispers, gasps of shock and horror, and soft fear started, as Daala and Liegius brought up the rear. Gilad Pellaeon didn't exactly SMILE, but Betsy could feel the Old Man's bemusement and wicked enjoyment at most of the Moffs' fear where Daala was concerned. The little party came to a halt at the first step to the platform, and Betsy and Ben both bowed to Pellaeon and the Moffs, as the stormtroopers and lesser officers executed perfect parade ground turns to face forward. Pellaeon descended the stairs, not a sign of his 92 years in his carefully measured approach, and he politely acknowledged the Jedi's bows with a nod. "Master Braddock, and ... company. Welcome to Bastion, all of you. We are honored to host you, and extend our full hospitality. Especially since you bring two of our lost heroes for honors ... and a traitor, to face justice," Pellaeon said, timbre and pitch perfect before he kissed Betsy's hand. "Thank you, Admiral. We are grateful for your kindness, and appreciate your hospitality, especially on such short notice," Betsy said, sharing a little smile with Pellaeon before he turned to Ben with a genuinely kind smile. "Young Skywalker. Good to see you alive ... and human. I have heard QUITE the exotic rumors since you were believed dead in the Hapes Catastrophe. Perhaps, later, the three of us can discuss your intriguing recent events?" Pellaeon said, shaking Ben's hand as the boy nodded respectfully. "Yessir. Thank you, sir," Ben said, keeping it quick yet polite; he was a little overwhelmed, not QUITE sure whether to address Pellaeon as Sir due to Ben's quasi-commission with the GAG, or sir, due to Ben's recent apprenticeship. Pellaeon chuckled, as did some of the Moffs, but it was goodnatured, and Ben merely smiled a little; he DID feel a little embarrassed, but his self-control was excellent, and Betsy approved through the Force. "Would that some of our officers had your brevity during reports. Wise beyond your years. We'll talk after dinner; excuse me for a moment, please," Pellaeon said, leaving Master and Padawan, politely acknowledging the droids with a nod ... and grinning wickedly, JUST for an instant, as he walked to Daala, and Betsy ALMOST felt sorry for the Moffs who'd crossed Daala all those years ago. "Admiral Pellaeon, sir," Daala said, snapping off a perfect salute, and Pellaeon returned it ... with a few gasps from the platform. "ADMIRAL Daala. And Citizen Vorn. Welcome home," Pellaeon said, and the few who hadn't gasped before did now ... /Is he really gonna give her back her commission? I mean, it's his choice, right?/ Ben asked, and Betsy glanced at the boy, who was maintaining a sabaac face through effort. ~It's definitely a political move. But it may be an old man's last act of defiance, or a step toward ... something. I'm not even going to TRY to figure out how far ahead in the dejarik game Pellaeon has planned. He's one of the few great military minds of the Galactic Civil War left,~ Betsy sent, and Ben just radiated acknowledgement with an eye twitch, not even nodding. He was definitely Mara's son, schooled in NOT giving away visual cues which analysts ... for good or ill ... might read for some kind of leverage with the Jedi. Betsy would much rather board the Wing, take Ben to Mon Cal for a couple weeks, and let the boy safely blow off steam, but one didn't walk into Bastion and just fly back out. No ... this was going to be a dance, over dinner, a night's stay, and thinly veiled words. Fortunately, Betsy preferred sword dancing, actually. Which the Empire respected. The game was afoot, then ... and they DID have Threepio. More dangerously, they had Artoo. ----------------------------------------------------- Naboo duck in shuura sauce, flaming Ementes socale sprigs, even hot chocolate ... it was a feast, Ben thought happily. But he didn't just gobble things down; he tried to be on his best behavior, and had his in-ear comlink to Threepio, helping him with what fork, spoon or knife to use. At least nobody was trying to stick Ben with alcohol HERE ... he settled for water. Plain, but fizzade just WASN'T gonna cut it when he was the only person under 18 in the room, and it was so formal. Mom had made THAT clear long ago, when she'd been teaching Ben about how to make people perceive you as someone else. Ben had expected the usual "divide and conquer" method of seating, but he'd been surprised when he'd been allowed to sit at Aunt Betsy's left at a long table in a really decorated dining room with a tall ceiling. Threepio and Artoo were in a corner of the room, while Aunt Betsy sat at Admiral Pellaeon's left, and the admiral sat at the head of the table, Daala and Liegius on the other side, the Moffs and some of their wives making up the rest of the guests. At Ben's left was an aide in his mid-40s named Vitor Reige, who was the admiral's attache ... or Ben THOUGHT that was the right term ... He was out of practice, not running errands for Jacen in the GAG anymore, and Ben almost missed those days. Almost. Then he remembered Caedus, and that hurt and anger mix came back, and Ben focused on the living Force and the moment. Reige was nice enough, but Ben was still wary; Admiral Pellaeon might be a good person, but he WAS Imperial, and Aunt Betsy and Mom both had told Ben amazing stories of how the Old Man of the Empire had come up with crazy schemes to throw his enemies AND allies off balance. Attaches were usually spies, also, Ben had learned from Mom. "Mmm. Quite the expensive duck. Imports from Naboo are ridiculous these days, with the war hiking up secure shipping costs," Reige said, as Ben nibbled on a slice of waterfowl on his fork. "I haven't heard much from Coreward in a while ... but you probably know I've been busy," Ben said, trying not to blush; HOW he was going to explain his time as one of the Shaped, THEN the Phoenix Host, in front of a room full of uptight Imperials, escaped him ... Aunt Betsy gave Ben a kind look and said, "Apprentice Skywalker was on extended liasion duty with the Galactic Alliance Guard, then assisted in the relocation of several of the survivors of the Hapes Catastrophe, and an investigation on Vjun, before I accepted him as my Padawan. I'm sure we can share details later." /Thanks. Sorry .../ Ben sent, but Aunt Betsy just gave him an empathic backpat and turned back to some anecdote of Pellaeon's. Ben smiled politely at Reige and said, "I apologize for not being better company." "Not a problem. Certain things are better left for after dinner, anyhow. You are a very observant young man. A regrettable loss to the GA military, you accepting a position as a Jedi apprentice. I had thought you might remain with the Guard," Reige probed. Ben managed not to sigh, and replied with more confidence, "The Guard has a lot of really caring people, and I'll always be grateful to them, but ... I need to concentrate on being a Jedi, for now. Some of the ... higher ups had ... severe issues." #THAT'S being kind,# part of Ben's mind snarked, and Reige smiled very briefly; Ben figured the attache would know about how badly Jacen had behaved before Caedus had been exposed. "Ah, bad leadership IS a problem. You'll go farther with Master Braddock, I'm sure. Mastering all of one's potential is admirable. And finding new sources of ... fire ... in one's belly can be a powerful motivator," Reige said, as Ben sipped his water and tried not to spit up; yeah, they KNEW all right ... "As long as that fire can be managed," Ben warned; he knew he was skating a little too close to the truth, but if Reige knew about the Phoenix, then he knew how dangerous it was. "A little caution is always called for when spreading one's wings," Reige agreed, and Ben felt a little relief when the attache shifted the topic to duck breeding, of all things. Yeah, Ben would be a LOT happier when dessert came. ------------------------------------------------------- Ben was holding his own, at least, and Betsy felt badly for dragging him to this gundark pit. No 14-year-old boy, no matter how cultured or well-trained, could feel entirely comfortable being the only teen in a room full of some of the galaxy's most conniving sentient adults. Leia and Threepio had, at least, prepared Betsy for which Moffs to be wary of; most of them were following Pellaeon's lead, but Grand Moff Quille at the end of the table was among those sniffing at the GA's northern border, and if Vjun and the Shaped were common (albeit informal) knowledge among the Moffs ... Well, land grabs on planets had been justified on fear of an old enemy within striking distance. The same principle applied to galactic geography, even if a thrust at Vjun might stir GA or Mandalorian ire, given the distance. Then again, the GA was badly stretched, and Mandalore was trying to keep its best and brightest close to home, given the Mandalore First movement Beviin had mentioned. But the idea of facing Vong Force users MIGHT dissuade the Imperials. Or memories of Bastion's abuse by the Vong might spark younger Moffs to seek some measure of satisfaction, and claim they were nipping a second Vong War in the bud. It would sell well on Yaga Minor and Muunilinst, at least. Honestly, Betsy had half considered paying a shuttle to haul Daala, Liegius and Phenirr to Bastion, just to avoid all this political shavit and Imperial plotting. She HATED it. Unfortunately, leading strills in serenading the foibles of the Remnant wouldn't play well in Ravelin, and someone HAD had to feel out Pellaeon and the Moff Council. "... a true mess at Commenor. Niathal was wise to try and head off the Hutt landing craft, but wrenching the entire system out of the Confederates' hands will prove difficult," Pellaeon said, drawing Betsy back to their discussion of the wider war. She nodded; between ongoing blockades or actual conflicts between the GA and Corellia, Nal Hutta, Fondor, Commenor, Adumar AND Bothawui, the GA Navy was stretched thin. Worse, regional conflicts had proven to be as volatile as Kenth Hamner had warned; one of the aides had run up with a datapad reporting that indeed, the Mandos were paying Kem Stor Ai a visit with the new Bes'ulik fighters, and Roche had its defense forces augmented with Tra'kad battle tanks from Mandalore. "One does have to wonder what the Alliance will do should the Mandalorian ... presence spread. Roche has a LONG client list, and if those clients feel their deals are threatened, this part of the Outer Rim could become ... crowded," Quille probed in a pointed, soft voice. The man was not the stereotypical Imperial thug in a velvet uniform, Betsy granted. Nor was she the stereotypical Jedi negotiator. "I can safely assure you, Grand Moff Quille, that this part of the galaxy will have a strong Jedi presence and Alliance attention for the foreseeable future. That requires no prescient interruptions on my part to ruin the evening," Betsy said, smiling at the polite laughter; a little humor softened the blow to the Grand Moff's notion that she was so easily played. Quille merely smiled vaguely, replying, "Indeed, Master Braddock. Whether those Jedi will be in robes or vonduun subdermal armor plates seems to be the greater question, though." Ben looked VERY uncomfortable for a second, and THEN, of course, Threepio butted in with, "Actually, Your Excellency -" "IF we are going to be broaching the subject of the ... Vong hybrid settlement on Vjun so ... openly ... then we might as well ask pointed personal questions about our younger guest's anatomy," Pellaeon said in a not quite acid tone, as Ben paled and all of the Moffs and their wives looked horrified. Quille looked both rebuked and nauseous, stammering, "My ... sincerest apologies, Apprentice Skywalker -" Betsy was QUITE ready to demand something more ... personal from Quille, but Ben regained his usual color and said, "No offense taken, Your Excellency. Thank you, however." ~VERY well done,~ Betsy applauded Ben, and the boy just smiled back at her mentally, turning his attention to the fruit dessert the chefs brought out. For her part, Betsy decided to hammer home a point, and asked, "On the topic of ... Force users, I was wondering if there had been any delegations from Korriban or Ziost of late ...?" Fortunately, no one had any flickers of shock in the Force, and Betsy relaxed when Quille said, with sincerity, "We have learned from our Former Imperial Majesty's excesses, Master Braddock. There will be NO garish red and black costuming permitted at our social functions, I assure you." "A rule I'm sure we can all approve of. Lamentable, that Korriban is such a distance; our cadets could use a lesson in planetary bombardment techniques on a deserving world," Pellaeon said, bringing a small smile to Betsy's lips. Yes, she still liked old Gil. ------------------------------------------------------- The dessert had been ... OK, but Quille's comment, and Admiral Pellaeon's response, had left Ben pretty close to throwing up. Just the IDEA of talking about being Shaped in front of strangers creeped him out, now that he was human again. He was glad when the dinner finally broke, and he was able to join Aunt Betsy behind closed doors with Pellaeon, Reige, and the droids; Daala was off doing whatever she had asked Aunt Betsy about ... "Ben, I SINCERELY apologize. That cretin Quille has the manners of a nek in heat, and I didn't want people talking about you like you were some kind of science experiment," Admiral Pellaeon said after they'd made their way to the Old Man's residence; he would host them for the evening, and Ben felt safer than back at the Moff Council's offices. "Thanks, sir. It wasn't embarrassing when I WAS Shaped, but now ... " Ben said, blushing freely and gratefully accepting tea from Reige as they sat around a roaring fire. "You're a good lad, Ben. You deserve better than what Caedus put you through; your work in helping bring him to heel is worthy of respect," Pellaeon praised, before he settled in a chair, and Ben smiled at the compliment. He focused on Aunt Betsy as she asked, "Realistically, Gil, what ARE the odds of some wild Moff seeking adventure and crossing the border with a battle group? There ARE innocents on Vjun." "I can give you the same answer Fett gave, Elizabeth: As long as Tenel Ka keeps Caedus on a leash, preferably literally, the Remnant is perfectly ready to stay behind our moat. For once, the Jedi Council acted to keep their messes from boiling over, and there isn't a mountain of corpses involved. I can approve of that," Pellaeon said, sipping his tea. He smiled a naughty smile and added, "I hear the Moffs are going to be having some ... intriguing afterdinner entertainment thanks to dear Daala and Liegius. And your private files ...?" "It always pays to keep embarrassing holos around," was all Aunt Betsy said, winking at Ben, who wanted to ask ... Nah. He figured he'd better just let his stomach settle. He loved Aunt Betsy, but her revenge was usually REALLY stomach turning, and Ben had had too much rich food ... ------------------------------------------------------- "You're sure this is the file about the Shapings?" Quille asked peevishly as the rest of the loyalist Moffs gathered in the main briefing room; he was in a mood, having to apologize to a Jedi BRAT, and one related to the murderer of the Death Star. "Should be, sir ..." the younger Moff, Szoldat or something, said ... and the holoprojector came alight as the room darkened. And the Moffs watched in HORROR ... as an elderly man in a gold ... ensemble ... started to jiggle, and a female Hutt chuckled appreciatively ... The Dance of Booster Terrik had finally found an audience worthy of its ... uniqueness, thanks to Liegius Vorn. Daala laughed maniacally from the spyhole as the screams started. Try to assassinate HER, would they? --------------------------------------------------------- 24 Days after the Battle of Corellia: Private Residence of Gilad Pellaeon, Ravelin, Bastion, Imperial Remnant, Galactic North: --------------------------------------------------------- After breakfast, Ben found Aunt Betsy meditating in the garden, as Reige and Threepio shared a ... pretty long winded talk about Naboo fish, and Artoo and Pellaeon played holo dejarik. "AHK! You little sneak! The death strider gambit ..." Pellaeon laughed, and Ben smiled as Artoo toodled; it was nice of the admiral to be kind to droids. The boy sat beside Aunt Betsy, waiting patiently, and she cracked an eye after a few minutes. "Commendable, patience. But I know it can be a real pain," she said, and Ben grinned. "Well, we gotta be careful here, I know," Ben said; they DID have to watch out for spies, even if the Imperials didn't actually want to hurt them. "True ... but you need work on your sparring," Aunt Betsy said, grinning - and Ben hoped she meant - but HERE? "Just don't throw each other in the pond. Those Naboo quoit spikes are painful to fall on," Pellaeon warned, and Ben and Betsy ignited their sabers ... Ben was a little afraid, but he let the Force guide him; he had to get past his fear of losing control. He wasn't Shaped anymore ... Aunt Betsy let Ben start, with a pretty obvious forward lunge which she parried, and he smiled; this might not be so bad. Ben tried a feint, then switched the swing toward Aunt Betsy's feet, and she avoided, spinning around, and Ben followed ... and he was able to ENJOY lightsaber dueling again. He even laughed a little as they danced through the garden, not meaning any harm. Aunt Betsy grinned too, and Ben felt ... happy. Free. Why'd he ever fear the Force? Then something leapt from the pond, and Aunt Betsy pulled Ben behind her, and the shavit hit the fan. --------------------------------------------------------- It was a Sith, black robes and garish black and red tattoos ... but the attacker had an empathic roil about her which really bothered Betsy ... and she realized, as she parried the red lightsaber, that this Sith was ... "A ZELTRON SITH!? Bloody shavit, Krayt is scraping the bottom of the barrel," Betsy tried to mock, driving the other woman back as Reige rang for Imperial security. "Taunt all you want, Braddock. You WILL fall, and the boy will come to Korriban with me," the Sith taunted ... before she removed her robes to reveal a shapely body marred by red and black tattoos and clad only in black leather skirt and haltertop, her hair billowing behind her. "NO male can resist ... DARTH ORGONE!" the Zeltron cackled, and Betsy glanced at Ben. The boy did sweat a little, but he shook his head and said, "I broke free of being Shaped. I can handle one schutta." "You will try ..." Orgone began ... but she turned ... helpless ... and dropped her lightsaber. Gil Pellaeon crooked his finger, grinning promisingly. Reige covered his eyes, and Betsy gulped, while Ben gasped, as Darth Orgone ... well, KNELT down to Gil. "Still got it, after all these years," Pellaeon chuckled, before he cuffed Orgone and waved a stormtrooper squad into the garden to drag her away, Reige blushing. Betsy had to shake off a wave of pheromones, and looked warningly at Ben; if he said "I told you so ..." "No teasing, I promise," Ben said, and Betsy ruffled his hair in gratitude. "You did well to resist a wet Zeltron in leather," Betsy added, and Ben blushed. "Yeah ... but Sith and cute don't mix," Ben said, smiling when Betsy laughed despite the situation. Now, the question was: How did that Sith GET here? ------------------------------------------------ tbc ...