Sometimes the most important thing your character can do is help someone else be the star.

Roleplaying games have taught us something that seems almost sacred: everybody at the table should get an equal share of the spotlight. Every character should be important, every player should have something meaningful to do, and nobody should spend an entire evening watching somebody else play the game. I agree with almost all of that. But I’m beginning to wonder whether we’ve taken the idea of equal participation and accidentally turned it into something else: boring episodes (if this were a real TV show).

If you’re trying to recreate the feeling of Star Trek at your gaming table, understanding the difference between gameplay and episodic writing might completely change the way you play.

Note: This article is just a suggestion. Some people just want to play the game. Period. But I know other groups that are trying really hard to simulate an episode of Star Trek, with a rotating spotlight on different cast members. This is for that group of players.

Not Every Episode Is About Everybody

Think about your favorite Star Trek series. Some episodes belong to the captain. Some belong to the doctor. At other times, the focus is on the engineer. Occasionally, the character who normally gets six lines and an “Aye, sir” suddenly becomes the emotional center of the entire story. “The Measure of a Man” is Data’s story. “The Inner Light” is Picard’s. Each episode of Discovery is about Michael Burnham. (Sorry. Just had to throw that in there for fun.)

“It’s Only a Paper Moon” gives Nog an emotional journey that would be diminished if the episode kept cutting away to the rest of the cast, each needing an even amount of screen time.

Star Trek doesn’t work that way, yet RPGs frequently do. As gamemasters, we’re trained to scan the table constantly. Has everyone rolled recently? Does everyone have something to do? Is everyone getting enough spotlight? Those are good instincts, particularly when they’re protecting a player from being excluded. But sometimes they can produce strangely artificial storytelling.

The captain has an intense diplomatic confrontation, so we’d better give the engineer something to repair. The doctor has discovered something horrifying about an alien disease, so we’d better create a security problem. The science officer is investigating an ancient artifact, so we’d better give the pilot something difficult to fly around. Before long, we’ve created four subplots whose primary purpose is making sure everybody gets to roll some dice. The episode isn’t really about anything anymore. It’s just busy, IMO.

Being Present Isn’t the Same as Being the Protagonist

Here’s the distinction I think matters: every player should be involved, but every character doesn’t need to be the protagonist.

Imagine an episode centered on your Vulcan science officer. She discovers that the scientist responsible for an atrocity decades earlier was her former mentor. The scientist insists that his actions saved millions of lives. Starfleet wants him returned for trial, another government wants him extradited, and your science officer discovers that some of what he is saying may actually be true. That’s her episode.

The captain has a role to play because they have to decide how Starfleet responds. The security officer matters because there may be competing claims of jurisdiction. The doctor might uncover evidence that confirms or contradicts the scientist’s account, while the engineer might discover something crucial hidden in decades-old records. All of those characters can contribute meaningfully to the story without the story becoming about them. In fact, their most important role might eventually be turning to the science officer and asking what she’s going to do.

That’s not sidelining players. That’s ensemble storytelling.

I feel that there is something wonderfully appropriate about this approach to Star Trek because Starfleet officers aren’t supposed to be competing for attention. They’re a crew. A good first officer doesn’t interrupt the captain’s diplomatic negotiation because they haven’t had enough dialogue this episode; and a chief engineer doesn’t resent the science officer for making the discovery that saves the ship. They help one another succeed.

Maybe we should think about our gaming tables the same way.

(Also, I am placing an extraneous dash here–just to randomly annoy people who think AI wrote this blog piece. Wait–there goes another one.)

Learn to Play the Supporting Role

One of the most generous things a player can do is recognize, “This isn’t my episode. How can I make it better?” That question can transform a game because instead of searching for ways to redirect the story toward your own character, you start looking for opportunities to support another player’s story.

Ask the spotlighted character the difficult question. Challenge their assumption. Offer advice they may not want to hear. Reveal something that complicates their decision. Give them the emotional scene. And when the climax arrives, don’t automatically reach for it yourself. Sometimes the best contribution you can make to a session is setting up another player to knock the scene out of the park. I will state that one more time for emphasis–(and because the AI overlords told me to…)

Sometimes the best contribution you can make to a session is setting up another player to knock the scene out of the park.

This doesn’t mean sitting silently for three hours while somebody else plays. Supporting another character’s story can involve enormous amounts of roleplaying. Think about the scenes in Star Trek where someone visits another character’s quarters, sits down, listens and offers advice. Guinan made an art form out of this. McCoy could walk into Kirk’s presence, argue with him, and completely change the emotional trajectory of an episode without the story suddenly becoming about McCoy.

Players can do this too. Your security officer might notice that the science officer hasn’t slept in two days and bring her coffee. Your engineer might quietly tell the captain, “She’s not okay.” Your doctor might ask the question nobody else is willing to ask. Those moments don’t steal the spotlight from another character. They sharpen it.

And here’s the wonderful irony: once you stop trying to be the protagonist, your own character can sometimes become more interesting.

Captains, I’m Looking at You

If anyone is going to accidentally become the main character of a Star Trek Adventures campaign, it’s the person sitting in the center chair. It makes sense. The captain gives orders, talks to admirals, negotiates with aliens, and ultimately decides whether to fire weapons, violate the Neutral Zone, abandon the mission, evacuate the colony, or tell Badmiral Jerkston exactly where he can file Regulation 47-B.

The structure of Star Trek naturally gives captains authority. But authority doesn’t have to mean narrative ownership.

One of my favorite things a captain player can do is deliberately turn the spotlight outward. “Lieutenant, what’s your assessment?” “Doctor, you know these people better than I do. What aren’t they telling us?” “Commander, you’ve dealt with the Klingons before. I want your recommendation.” “Ensign, this was your discovery. What do you think we should do?”

Those aren’t meaningless questions inserted to make everyone feel included. They’re invitations for other characters to shape the story. A great player captain doesn’t just command the other characters; they create opportunities for the other players to matter. That’s leadership at the gaming table as much as it is leadership on the bridge.

Gamemasters Have to Stop Panicking Too

This requires something from Gamemasters as well. We have to stop panicking when one character becomes central to an episode. If everyone is engaged, let it happen. Don’t interrupt a powerful conversation because somebody hasn’t rolled dice recently. No need to manufacture a warp-core malfunction because the engineer needs something to do. And don’t beam down six officers when the story really calls for two merely to keep everyone busy.

Instead, find ways for everyone else to participate in the central story. (The Supporting Characters rule is a great way to keep players busy when their main character is not in the scene.) For players not in the main story: Let them provide information from the ship or become the person on the other end of the communicator. You could even go as far as letting a player temporarily portray the ambassador arguing with the captain or the frightened colonist being treated by the doctor. (As long as they don’t grandstand and divert the main plotline.)

Just saying–sometimes Commander Riker stays aboard the Enterprise.

Whose Episode Is This?

Gamemasters Guidance: Here’s something I’d encourage you to try at your next game. At some point during the session, ask yourself one simple question: Whose episode is this?

Maybe you know before the session begins. Maybe you won’t know until halfway through. Maybe the GM thought it was going to be the doctor’s episode, but something unexpected happens and suddenly the engineer is confronting a decision nobody anticipated. Follow it. RPGs are wonderfully unpredictable that way.

And if it isn’t your character’s episode, don’t disengage. Do the opposite. Become the best supporting actor at the table.  Then, when their character reaches that wonderful moment when the entire episode seems to narrow down to one impossible decision, resist the urge to solve it for them. Give them the scene.

Players: Trust the GM. Eventually another episode will come along. The mission will suddenly intersect with your character’s history, beliefs, relationships or Values. The bridge doors will open, metaphorically speaking, and the camera will turn toward you. When it does, hopefully the other players will give you the same gift you’ve been giving them.

That’s one of the things Star Trek has understood for nearly sixty years. An ensemble doesn’t require everyone to be equally important in every scene or even every episode. It requires characters who become more interesting because of their relationships with one another.

So maybe the next time you realize tonight’s story isn’t really about your character, don’t look for a subplot. Look across the table at the player whose episode it is and ask yourself:

How can I help make this one of their best episodes ever?

Because you don’t have to be the main character to be essential.