NaNoWriMo - first blood

Okay. Well, it's bad, but the whole point is that it should simply be written, fast, without the time for worry over editing, or quality, or any of those pesky details... so here's the first thousand words or so:

Alignment Days tended to focus on the industrial, so it was no surprise to Bernard that the Hall of Mirrors was almost deserted. Stepping out of the lift into the muddy, mustardy light streaming through the windows, there was only one figure in the half-distance, a gaunt shadow contemplating the view and ignoring the cleaners who gave it – her – a respectfully wide berth.

Her reflection faced away from him in each mirror as he passed.

“Factor.”
She turned at his voice, and her face broke into a warm smile. “Bernard. Thank you.”
“What for?”
She smiled mischievously. “For coming. For humouring an old lady.” The humour was meant for him to share, although he found it difficult – when the person who controls how much air there is to breathe issues an invitation, acceptance would seem the only course.
Bernard bowed. “I’m always pleased to hear from you, Geneva.”
She harrumphed. “Quite.” Turning away, she walked slowly down the hall, her black cloak a ripple of mustard-yellow and black. Bernard tagged along, catching a glimpse of their reflection in one enormous mirror as they passed. The Factor was tall, thin - spindly, even. In the low gravity she moved elegantly, her black cloak billowing as she waltzed down the Hall like some gothic whisp from a New Romantic painting. But the muddy light of Saturn made her look old, and the black looked dirty. Bouncing along lumpenly beside her, Igor to her Bride, it simply made him look unwell.
She half-turned. “Bernard, let us sit here for a moment.” She gestured towards a bench. They settled themselves gently into it, and contemplated the view for a while.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The Factor asked, matter-of-factly.
Bernard nodded. Of course it was; Dione’s Hall of Mirrors was famed for having the best view anywhere inside Ring F. Even now, when Saturn’s attitude meant that the light was dirty yellow rather than (Bernard’s preferred) royal blue, he could see three storms starting up in the upper atmosphere, each twisting streamers of white and green into massive, slowly dancing spirals. And beyond the horizon, he could pick out Helene against the spangled curtain of night, gibbous and jewelled with the distant sparkle of polished domes. And the Rings themselves…

“You built this.” She said.
He shook his head. “My group, built this.”
She frowned elegantly. “Bernard, are you not head of Selene Aversis?”
Bernard sighed. “Technically.”
“Were Selene Aversis not the primary contractors for this Hall?”
“Yes, okay, you’ve made your p-“
“Bernard, your design krewe designed this Hall. And most of Dione’s Eye, when you get right down to it.”
He said nothing. He wanted to say, no, this is Miguel’s work, purely and solely Miguel’s. It’s his best work. He was inspired. God knows we’ve carried him since, but this was all his.