Sly Cooper and the Gang In: A Long Lost Love

CHAPTER 9

Art Credit: https://slycooper.fandom.com/wiki/Bentley/Gallery

"So you're saying Carmelita . . . sent you a message . . . from inside the machine?" Bentley peered at him over the rim of his glasses. "Did you hit your head in the helicopter?"

"No, I did not hit my head in the helicopter." Sly slapped the letter on Bentley's desk, text facing up. "This is her handwriting, Bentley. You seriously think I wouldn't recognize all the weird tails on her i's?" He'd picked on her about it relentlessly at least once a year, joking about how the most respected policewoman in Europe can't draw a straight line. She'd whacked him over the head–lightly–with a baton once or twice and reminded him she knew how to use a straight line all the same. The memory made his throat ache and his eyes burn, so he shoved it away and slid the letter closer to Bentley as if to say, See?

Bentley inspected the minuscule hooks Carmelita always left at the end of her i's when she was writing in a hurry. "I'll admit there are some similarities."

"So say she landed somewhere with advanced technology. It's not possible she could send a digital message through while the portal was opened for testing?"

The look Bentley gave him was half well, sort of, and half you're crazy. "Look, Sly. I'm not saying it's impossible. All I'm saying is this complicates things." He set the letter down on the desk, spreading his papers across the worn surface.

Sly drug a chair closer to Bentley's workstation, ignoring Murray's look of concern from the couch where he sat, PlayStation controller in one hand and way too much caffeine for his own good in the other. "How, exactly? I've been looking for her for five years, and now I know where she is. It also just so happens to be the place we were already headed." He leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over a knee, flashing Bentley an overconfident smile. "I see no complications. Only lucky convenience." Glancing to Murray for backup, he added, "And I have to say, it's about time." Luck had been eluding them long enough on this mission . . .

Murray looked like he couldn't decide if he should shrug or nod, so he did both.

Bentley wasn't as easily convinced. The genius tapped the nearly-finished square device on the right side of his desk. "You're forgetting the failsafe. If any of us are getting close enough to use it, it's you, Sly. And if Carmelita's inside that thing–" He paused, choosing his next words carefully before abandoning all caution and laying the truth Sly had been avoiding on the table between them. "I don't think you can."

Sly's chest hollowed out. He screwed a dismissive tone into his words. "You're not even finished with it yet. We still have to go back to the Science Department and get the negative space subverter or whatever you call it."

"The near-space converter?" Bentley corrected, eyebrow raised.

"Yes. That. The near-space converter. You know what I meant."

"Look, Sly." His friend sighed. "Whether it's finished or not is not the point. The point is that it will be finished, and you will be taking it with you to the top of FarFlight Tower because we agreed we'd stop this thing from becoming fully functional." Bentley spread his hands, exasperated. "It's a–a conflict of interest!"

"The Guru used to say there were lots of planets out there we didn't know about," Murray added from the couch. "Some of them are prolly nice. Others–" He shuddered.

"C'mon, the Murray I know can handle some aliens," Sly coaxed, waving a hand at Murray's newly refurbished cybernetic fists. His Aboriginal Ball Form had been supercharged, as of late.

"Maybe some. Not hundreds!" Murray's brows furrowed almost comically. "Sly, be serious. What if something worse than Clockwerk comes through and we can't stop it?"

Nothing's worse than Clockwerk. But maybe that was the problem. If nothing was worse than the creature who made this machine, then his handiwork probably shouldn't be used.

Bentley leaned his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. "We know how much you miss her. We miss her, too."

"You don't understand." Sly was so tired of the pity, of the compassion. "How many times do you see Penelope?" he shot at his friend. "Four, five times a week?" He didn't even want to get started on how often Murray visited the race track, which he purported was his only love.

"There are bigger things at play here than you and me, than any of us. Bigger things than her." His eyes grew serious, and Sly felt like the Safe House shrunk around him, like all the aerial vehicles and loudspeakers and broadcast announcements outside in the cyber city grew quieter. "I need to know that if something other than Carmelita comes through, you can destroy this machine. And not just that you could, that you will."

"Always so specific, buddy," Sly said. But tears burned behind his eyes, and he knew Bentley saw them, though the turtle was kind enough not to say anything.

Just considering the idea of locking her wherever she was–forever–was a knife twisting between his ribs. It carved the heart right out of him. Left him unable to even breathe. Was Bentley right? The Guru sometimes knew things Sly could only begin to understand, and if Clockwerk was tapping into something more than intergalactic trade, everyone he loved who was still here would be in danger, too. And he was no stranger to getting his friends hurt.

After what had happened to Bentley, he'd vowed to never be so careless again.

But . . . "I gave up so much already," he heard himself whisper. His parents. The life he knew. The Cooper Vault. His family legacy. To some degree, his friends. They'd gone their separate ways for years, only reuniting again when Sly was cemented in Carmelita's life, she'd arranged their pardons in exchange for information, and any remaining enemies were officially bribed off their backs for what had been, at that time, the foreseeable future. He didn't know if he could give her up, too. But he also didn't know if he could live with the guilt of getting his friends killed if he didn't hit the failsafe button in time.

"Isn't all this just speculation, anyhow?" he hedged.

Something cracked in Bentley's eyes.

"We're not even certain your 'box of last resort' will turn on. How about I get the near-space converter," he said, emphasizing the fact he was listening and did know what he was supposed to steal from the Advanced Science Department, "and we see if we even get the good ole green blinking light?"

Bentley and Murray exchanged a concerned glance. The turtle looked back at him and exhaled. "Alright, Sly. We'll see if it turns on, first."