Author's Note: I revised chapter 1 (spelling mistakes, a few personality errors, etc.). I hope it's a bit better than the original. Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I'll listen to suggestions and criticism and try to fix any errors I've made.

1. In this story, neither Obama nor Romney has actually been elected

2. I also poke fun of both (and own neither...wait, that's just creepy). Please don't read this if you and your political beliefs are easily offended. I respect both people.

3. I also don't own Star Trek.

4. The rating is T, due to language, extremely immature (and bad) jokes, references to alcohol, an overload of sarcasm, and even more immaturity.

5. Not slashy, as of now.

6. Chapter 1 isn't funny. The rest are (well, at least to me).

Barack Obama awoke suddenly, glancing around, trying to figure out his bearings. He looked at his watch- how long had he been out? Reaching for the buzzer on his seat, he rung for

Lawrence, his personal assistant and, for the mean time, confidant. Seeming to appear out of thin air, Lawrence was at the side of the president almost instantly.

"You called, Mr. President?" Despite Lawrence's usually calm demeanor, there was something with his expression- the smile was too tight and his eyes darted from side to side.

"Yes," the president tried to keep a cool tone, "I would like to know the whereabouts of this craft? How long until we land in Tokyo?"

As expected, Lawrence nervously checked his watch, "Sir, approximately 2 hours, 6 minutes and -"

"Sorry, Mr. Lawrence, but I was wondering where exactly we are- California, Hawaii, ocean.."

At this Lawrence looked down, avoiding the president's eyes. This was odd- by now he should've radioed up to the front. After all, it was the president asking.

"Above, erm, San Fransisco."

With or without his Harvard education, the president knew Lawrence was lying.

Checking to see if no one was looking, the president, with a dart of his hand, grabbed Lawrence's wrist, twisting it while bringing Lawrence's face uncomfortably close to his own.

"Mr. Lawrence, I asked our bearings, if I were you , I would give them to me EXACTLY."

Lawrence's eyes fell onto the floor, "Sir, I'm sorry, but I cannot tell-"

The president twisted Lawrence's arm harder, and Lawrence attempted a small squeal. He had forgotten that the president had taken martial arts for a consecutive 7 years as a child and teenager.

He felt the president's hot breath against his cheek. "What's going on- tell me or..." Lawrence felt the extreme tension on his upper arm give way and, hearing the sharp snap of cartilage, knew that the president could do much worse (not that the public knew this, of course. He preferred to come off as more of a "family man.")

Lawrence knew that this kind of physical fight was rare for the president- almost unheard of. He must've figured it out. Lawrence wished he could just surrender- stop the pain.

But he had a loyalty to the others, and said nothing.

The president smiled, as he began to twist back Lawrence's right index finger but, to Lawrence's relief, stopped suddenly.

Unbeknownst to Lawrence, his eyes had rested on one of celling compartments- normally used to store blankets and food. With a swift motion of his hands, the president hoisted the injured Lawrence up, holding him by the scruff of his neck.

"What's in this compartment?"

Lawrence starred straight- they were screwed by now, but they had all prepared to give their lives to the mission.

Lawrence felt his legs go out from under him as he was hoisted into the air by the scruff of his neck.

"Open it."

Lawrence flatly refused, shutting his eyes. The president reached out one hand to knock him unconscious as a last resort- surely the aircraft was filled with others in on the scheme- but at the last moment, saw Lawrence's face break into a great grin. It was a trap- they'd anticipated that he would knock him out. When he was desperate, the usually calm president often did rash things. But it was too late- with a wince, he already felt Lawrence's jaw give way to his fist.

Jumping up, he grabbed the remote to lock the doors to his cabin. It would buy him a few minutes at most.

He then went to work on the compartment. Opening it up, he could see that it was some sort of weapon, perhaps meant to detonate the entire aircraft. Using his prior knowledge of weaponry, he anticipated he had approximately 4-7 minutes to disable the device.

While setting to work, he thought of who was the head of this scheme. Traveling to Japan in a mission to bargain for a loan (of course, to the public, it was only a press conference and friendly visit) were himself, his vice president, secretary of the treasury, and the secretary of defense (luckily, he was flying in another plane- his own nuclear proof craft). One of the planes had been forced to stop in California. He had no idea where the other was. Chances were, both men were already gone.

If he and his vice president were gone, that would leave the Speaker of the House in Command- he had been traveling today, and his driver had reported that they were being forced to turn around- something about a threat or obstacle or something. The president momentarily shut his eyes- he hadn't thought much of it, but his Speaker was probably dead by now. That left his Secretary of State.

He smacked his head, stopping to wipe the sweat forming on his brow. She had always had it in for him- he had chosen her not for her diplomatic skills, but as an ally, or at least not as an enemy. But with the upcoming election and him not being in favor at the time, she could be a last minute choice, get elected and win.

There was a knock, and then the compartment walls came apart, a group of secret service men coming in. By the stern looks on their faces, they were in on the mission as well.

The president took one last look at the weapon- 1 minute. He closed his eyes, he was a goner now. He hadn't said enough goodbyes- not to Michelle, his kids, even his dog, Bo. If only he had more time...

There was a sudden jolt of the aircraft, and both president and men fell, sliding across the floor. It must be the weapon going off, thought the president.

But the faces of the men showed pure fear and confusion.

It was as if the death mission had been abandoned for that second.

The president felt the blood running out of the wound on his head, and began to see stars. He heard the words unknown disturbance detected, and heard headsets connect and disconnect.

He needed a way out- perhaps a parachute. The president always had an escape plan.

He pushed his way through the mass confusion, wrenching his arms away when people tried to stop him.

He checked his watch- 15 seconds.

He was almost in the release bay when there was another jolt, violently throwing him against the wall. But it wasn't the wall he hit.

Autumn Sermons let out a yell as she and the president collided.

He grabbed her- "Sermons, I'll kill you for this. I don't care if I die too, the instigator of this and his accomplices will be punished. You didn't even think about my wife and-"

"No, Mr. Obama."

Autumn shook her head violently, digging her red nails into his skin. Of course he suspected her- after all, she was in one of the top circles at the CIA.

But she'd known nothing, along with the secretary of defense.

The only thing she knew was their imminent death, and the confusion surrounding it.

She shoved the weakened president off her, and, hobbling along, the both of them managed to make it into the cargo chamber. He made a grab for the remote, but there wasn't a need.

There was a roaring as the whole craft exploded, the pieces scattered across the sky.

The blue sky was all they saw as they plummeted towards Earth, a lone parachute holding the two of them.

Captain Kirk slowly opened his eyes, glancing around the ruined bridge of the Enterprise. Not exactly ruined, but a mess to say the least.

He rubbed his eyes. He remembered something like a storm or a portal, and massive jolt, but couldn't seem to figure it out.

The best he could figure was that they were caught in some sort of forcefield, just stuck here.

He shakily stood up, glancing about the bridge.

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura looked up, her hands immediately retreating to her face, where she made a feeble attempt to staunch her bloody nose. Both Lieutenant Sulu and Pavel Chekov were rubbing their eyes, a result of a head-on (literally) collision with the navigational controls.

"Jim, what the hell was that?"

Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy was already standing up, glancing around, both hands on his hips.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, the ship's certainly been damaged."

The emergency lights were the only things on, and, when Kirk tried to page the ship, he got no reply.

The doors suddenly opened, as Lieutenant Scott, head of Engineering, burst into the bridge, breathing heavily.

"Scotty, what the hell is the meaning of this?" Asked an indignant McCoy.

"Well, I-I-I canna tell ye, but, and don any of ye call me crazy, but we're the only ones left en this 'ere ship!"

"What's the meaning of this?" inquired a dazed Uhura.

"I mean what I tell 'ye. It's only me, you- everyone on th' bridge."

The emotionless Mr. Spock looked up from where he was examining their surroundings. "By that, you refer to Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov, yourself, Lieutenant Uhura, Dr. McCoy-"

Spock's speech was broken by a high-pitched scream, coming from the left-hand corner of the bridge.

Lieutenant Uhura, with a terrified look on her face, was on the ground, covered in blood. She cradled an almost unrecognizable body, which the blood flowed freely, staining her light blue uniform a sickly purple.

This part of the bridge was burned and crushed in, as if the Enterprise had been in a collision with another craft or had been hit by a phaser.

Kirk had no recollection of a phaser attack, but that wasn't his main concern at the moment.

McCoy pushed through the others, kneeling down next to Uhura. From his pocket he extracted his tricorder, waiving it over the body.

For those few nanoseconds, Kirk awaited McCoy's infamous words.

But, to his relief, they never came.

"Jim, she's alive, but she needs attention, quickly. A transfusion, surgery- anything!"

Kirk looked at Scotty, who slowly shook his head.

"The damage reports show tha' sickbay's completely destroyed. All there's left are some tools an' maybe a quart of blood, but thas' not our biggest concern."

"Sir, you meen to tell me that it geets vorse?"

"Well, th' oxygen levels in th' bridge are approaching a, um, dangerously low level an' we canna stay here much longer."

McCoy gave Scotty an incredulous look.

"I just can't believe it! Is there anything left on this goddamn ship?"

"Mr. Spock, back me up on this here one with a good expl' nation," protested Scotty.

Spock, as if waking from a trance, tore his eyes away from the victim.

"It is true. It we are to survive, we have approximately 4.53 minutes to beam down to the planet below. From what I deduce from the reading, the area in which our coordinates show seems to have sustainable oxygen levels and a tropical climate, similar to Earth. "

The response was immediate- it didn't matter what

Mr. Sulu jumped up, "Then what are we waiting for?"

Dr. McCoy attempted to protest, but Spock held out his arm.

"It seems as if we have no other choice. It is the logical option."

McCoy grudgingly seemed to agree, grabbing the last of his medical supplies. The others grabbed phasers and headed to the transporter room.

The ship was a mess- debris was scattered everywhere, susceptibly from the large jolt, but they saw not a single body.

Mr. Scott quickly switched the transporters to autopilot, as Kirk, Uhura, McCoy, Scotty and Sulu filed under the transporters, with Chekov and Mr. Spock taking up the rear.

The mangled body of Christine Chapel was strung between them.

As Scotty pushed the button on the remote, they energized, transporting onto the unknown surface below.