And the wiper lights flared. Jim suddenly had a epiphany: he had never flown a spaceship.
As the wipers scrubbed passionately across the now scuffed windshield, buttons flashed all around. Brilliant lights went off in brilliant sequence, ruby and azure and indigo. His eyes flooded with colors unknown as his face tinted and shaded with chromatic chiaroscuro - the rest of the world was lost to him. One button flickered on and off, catching his eye.
It was a gemstone of a button, an emerald bauble lodged in the dashboard. "Go", it said, in staunch white script. Jim's heart leaped into his hand as the little emerald clicked into place, and then the lights went out.
Everything was silent, and then the engine bellowed. Vermillion fires roared and rumbled the cockpit, the buttons going off again like fireflies on a summer night. As the burst grew stronger, the slope got tighter and rose up to meet the skies. Jim slid back in his seat as his new red rocket strapped him in.