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BASIC PRINCIPLES OF DRUG
DISCOVERY AND DEVELOPMENT
BASIC PRINCIPLES OF
DRUG DISCOVERY AND
DEVELOPMENT
SECOND EDITION
BENJAMIN E. BLASS
Temple University School of Pharmacy, Department of Pharmaceutical Sciences,
Moulder Center for Drug Discovery Research, Philadelphia, PA, United States
Academic Press is an imprint of Elsevier
125 London Wall, London EC2Y 5AS, United Kingdom
525 B Street, Suite 1650, San Diego, CA 92101, United States
50 Hampshire Street, 5th Floor, Cambridge, MA 02139, United States
The Boulevard, Langford Lane, Kidlington, Oxford OX5 1GB, United Kingdom
Copyright © 2021 Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Details on how to seek
permission, further information about the Publisher’s permissions policies and our arrangements
with organizations such as the Copyright Clearance Center and the Copyright Licensing Agency,
can be found at our website: www.elsevier.com/permissions.
This book and the individual contributions contained in it are protected under copyright by the
Publisher (other than as may be noted herein).
Notices
Knowledge and best practice in this field are constantly changing. As new research and experience
broaden our understanding, changes in research methods, professional practices, or medical
treatment may become necessary.
Practitioners and researchers must always rely on their own experience and knowledge in
evaluating and using any information, methods, compounds, or experiments described herein. In
using such information or methods they should be mindful of their own safety and the safety of
others, including parties for whom they have a professional responsibility.
To the fullest extent of the law, neither the Publisher nor the authors, contributors, or editors,
assume any liability for any injury and/or damage to persons or property as a matter of products
liability, negligence or otherwise, or from any use or operation of any methods, products,
instructions, or ideas contained in the material herein.
ISBN: 978-0-12-817214-8
Sir Isaac Newton, one of the greatest scientists of his time, wrote “If I
have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants.”
Although he was almost certainly referring to his scientific achieve-
ments, the underling concept of learning from our forbearer is true in
any endeavor. Indeed, this concept can be further extended to include
those who are there in the present day, supporting the activities of an
individual as he or she attempts to accomplish that which they view as
important. With this thought in mind, I have dedicated this book to the
scientists who came before me, those who mentored me, and those who
work with me on a daily basis. In addition, and perhaps more impor-
tantly, this text is dedicated to the loving and supportive family that
has helped me become the person that I am today. Special thanks are
offered to my mother, father, sister, brother, my three children, and of
course, my wife Kathleen. These are the giants on whose shoulders I
have stood upon.
Contents
Foreword xv
vii
viii CONTENTS
Distribution 324
Permeability 326
Transporters 328
Plasma protein binding 330
Elimination pathways 332
Metabolism 333
Excretion 345
In vitro ADME model systems 348
In Vivo pharmacokinetics 351
Volume of distribution 353
Clearance 355
Half-life 356
Bioavailability 359
Species selection 362
Questions 362
References 364
The last several decades have witnessed a revolution in the drug dis-
covery and development process. Medicinal chemistry and in vitro
screening that were once major bottlenecks in the process of identifying
novel therapeutics have been dramatically accelerated through the
incorporation of automation and the development of enabling technolo-
gies such as recombinant DNA and transfection technology. High-
throughput screening, parallel synthesis, and combinatorial chemistry
have facilitated the synthesis and biological evaluation of large numbers
of potentially useful compounds. These activities, in turn, have gener-
ated vast amounts of data that can be analyzed to develop structure
activity relationships and structure property relationships useful for the
optimization of lead compounds. At the same time, new techniques,
technological advances, and a greater understanding of the importance
of pharmacokinetics, animal models, and safety studies have dramati-
cally altered how new molecules are selected for clinical study. Clinical
trial design strategies, biomarkers, translational medicine, the regulatory
landscape, intellectual property rights, and the business environment
have also changed dramatically over the course of the last 40 years.
The complexities of the drug discovery and development process
cannot be overstated, nor can the wide range of expertise required for
the successful development of new, marketable therapeutics. In order to
thrive in this very changing landscape, individuals interested in a career
in the pharmaceutical industry or related fields must be more than sim-
ply experts in their chosen field of study. They must also have an
understanding of the numerous, overlapping fields of their colleagues.
Basic Principles in Drug Discovery and Development has captured the criti-
cal information on the disparate processes, technologies, and expertise
required for modern drug discovery and development and presents it
in a logical and concise manner for students, practicing scientists, and
nonscientist with an interest in the pharmaceutical industry. Dr.
Benjamin E. Blass, an experienced educator and scientist with founda-
tional knowledge in medicinal chemistry, drug design, biological tar-
gets, and over 25 years of experience in industrial and academic drug
discovery and development, provides a comprehensive account of the
many functions involved in drug discovery and development, from
xv
xvi Foreword
Language: English
By NELSON S. BOND
So that was that. You don't argue with the I. P. S. The next day
found the Pegasus loaded to the gunwales with all sorts of
equipment. Cameras, spectroscopes, interferometers, gadgets and
junk, the very names of most of which were just so much Sanskrit to
me. That's where Johnny Larkin came in. He was not only our First
Mate; he was our technological expert.
But the Corporation also had the almighty viscera to fill one freight
hold with cargo! "Concentrate of zymase," said the lading
superintendent. "For deposit at Mars Central on the return trip. Get a
receipt from the Medical Officer, Captain."
"What's his name?" demanded the skipper gloomily. "Saint Peter?
Oh, hello, son. Sorry I couldn't get you out of this mess. Where's
Lorraine?"
"That's all right," said Larkin. "Maybe everything will be all right.
She's home. She wanted to come along but I wouldn't let her. Space
is no place for a woman."
Bowman growled, "This is a hell of a honeymoon for you, boy! An'
for her, too. Well, we might as well lift gravs. Sparks, get clearance
from the port."
I said, "Aye, sir!" and did. At 19.03 on the nose we blasted hell-for-
Thursday out of Long Island Port, for'rd tubes pointed at a
mysterious new dot in the heavens that had already killed more men
than a Central American rebellion.
That was at 19.03. At 22.00 sharp, Slops boomed the gong for the
late watch mess. And at 22.07, the door of the mess hall opened and
in walked—Lorraine Larkin, nee Bowman!
So we went on, and Lorraine Larkin went with us. I don't have to tell
you about the trip; you can get that from the log book. It was
sixteen days to the Mars ecliptic, but Mars wasn't there, of course.
It was sky-hooting along four weeks to sta-board. Little things
happened, none important. The outstanding thing about the trip was
the dopey way our one time sane and sensible first mate, Johnny
Larkin, was behaving.
He had apparently reconciled himself to the idea of Lorraine's being
with us. Reconciled? Whoops! He was closer to his bride than twelve
o'clock sharp. Everywhere you saw Lorraine, there was Johnny, and
vice versa.
Then we hit the highroad between Mars and the asteroids, the great
open spaces in which Caltech had taken squatters' rights. Bob Weir
punched keys on the astrocalculator and figured it would take us a
week and a half to reach our destination. I wasn't sure I could last
that long.
For why? One guess. Lt. and Mrs. J. Larkin. Their billing and cooing
was enough to make a Martian canal-pussie blush green. Every time
you saw Johnny he was playing octopus with Lorraine's hand. He
had dawn and soft breezes in his eyes when he looked at her, and
the glances she heaved back weren't exactly typhoons at midnight.
The worst part is, they didn't seem to have a bit of shame! They
didn't care whether anybody saw them acting like melted cheese
sandwiches or not. And oh! what they said! He called her "Lovums";
she called him "Cutsie," which was all wrong, "Bugsie," which was
one hundred per cent right, and a lot of other names too nauseating
to mention.
But somehow we survived. And finally came the time when the
skipper came busting into my turret and bawled, "Git y'r feet off'n
the desk, Sparks. Take a message to—"
"I know," I told him. "I already sent it. To Joe Marlowe at Lunar III.
Caltech VI is oh-oh under the nose. The Pegasus is preparing to
land, and the situation is—"
"Ain't you the smart little numbskull?" snorted the skipper. "Remind
me to use your brain for mattress stuffin'. No, dimwit, we ain't
landin'. I ain't goin' to set down on this here outlaw planet till I learn
what I'm landin' on. The Pegasus ain't goin' to be number four on
the missin' list." He beamed complacently. "Me, I'm smart, I am."
Well, so is sunburn. But who loves it. Anyway, I said, "Well, if we're
not going to land on Caltech, what's that big thing looming in the
visiplate? Green cheese?"
Bowman took one squint through the perilens and let loose a howl
that frightened its own echoes. "He's landin'! The damn fool's settin'
us down!"
He made a dive for the door. I grabbed his flying coat-tails long
enough to squawk, "Who?" and the answer came Dopplering back,
"Larkin! The space-crazy idiot!"
I moved, too. Sheer suction pulled me along as we hit the ramp,
charged through the corridors, scrambled up the Jacob's-ladder and
bore down on the control room. At the door I managed to pant,
"Who—who's in there with him?"
"Who do you think?"
"That's what I thought. What is this? A spaceship or a mushroom?"
Then we were inside, and it was just like I thought it would be.
Larkin was seated in the pilot's chair, pushing the buttons that eased
the Pegasus to terra firma, and hovering over him like a halo around
a saint's occipital was his ever-loving bride.
Bowman screamed, "Larkin! Wait!" and Lorraine turned, smiling.
"Isn't he clever, Daddy? He's the best pilot in the whole, wide
universe—aren't you, peachie?"
"Now, sweet—" protested Johnny modestly.
"Wait!" squalled the skipper. "Wait!"
"Weight, sir?" said Johnny, lifting out of his daze for a moment. "Aye,
sir. If you think best—" And he punched the grav plugs. My knees
buckled suddenly as the plates took hold. Bowman stumbled;
Lorraine gasped. Over the intercommunicating audio came voices, a
dozen irate queries from various parts of the ship. Bowman spoke
with an effort.
"Not weight, you double-blasted lunatic! Wait! Till we see what we're
gettin' into—"
But he spoke too late. The grip of the grav plates had done it. Our
nose jets spluttered, the ship lurched and slithered, there came a
sharp bump, surprisingly yielding and bouncy considering the speed
at which we had grounded, and—here we were. On Caltech.
Motionless, after weeks of travel.
No, not motionless! For then I felt it. Bowman and Larkin felt it. A
squidgy sort of sinking sensation, a sort of wobbling insecurity, as
though the ground were opening to let us drop through. The skipper,
an incredible mauve color, roared, "Lift 'er up, Johnny! We're gettin'
into something!"
Larkin made desperate passes at the control board. The rockets
flared and hissed, turning the control room into a bedlam. But
nothing happened. I saw why. I yelled,
"We ain't getting—we've got! Look!"
They all stared, like me, at the quartzite forward panes. Blue sky
should have been visible through them, warm sunlight should have
been flooding the turret. The terrain of Caltech should have
stretched before our gaze. But guess again. All we could see was a
gooey splatter of stuff oozing up the sides of the Pegasus. A strange,
viscous, colorless matter that surged up and about our ship with
weird, tentacular writhings. It covered the entire pane, gulped and
burbled sloppily as it engulfed the top of the ship. We continued to
experience that sinking feeling—
"Sweet whispering stars!" gasped the skipper. "Am I off my gravs?
Do you see what I see? The ground melted an' come up an' et us!"
And I knew, suddenly, what had happened to those who had landed
before us on mysterious Caltech. Like us they had been swallowed
beneath the soggy, flypaper crust of the alien planet.
It must have been an hour later that we felt it. A jarring whoomp
beneath our keel. The upset-tummy-in-an-elevator sensation
stopped. Bowman looked at me and said, "Larkin? He done
somethin', maybe?" and we went back to the bridge.
Larkin had not caused the settling, but he was beaming triumphantly
anyway. As we charged in, demanding information, he said, "Why,
it's very simple. We have finally come to rest on the surface of
Caltech."
"Sue me if I'm wrong," said the skipper, "but somehow I got the
impression we landed on this overgrowed custard an hour an' a half
ago? Or what's that I see out the ports? A bowl of taffy?"
"No, skipper. We didn't land on the surface before. We landed on a
particular kind of matter which is, so far as I have been able to
figure out, allied with the peculiar life-form inhabiting this planet."
"Life-form? You mean that stuff's alive?"
"Not exactly. That's the point I haven't been able to solve yet. I've
made a careful analysis of the stuff. It seems to be a highly complex
carbohydrate. Its formula is C6—"
"This ain't no time," I broke in, "to discuss mal-demer. What I want
to know is, do we or don't we try my idea about putting out the
Ampie? Johnny, maybe—"
"No!" he said.
"Well, why not? What have we got to lose?"
"No!" he said again. Oh, all right. I guess he was preoccupied and
didn't mean to be curt. But his tone rekindled my anger, and I didn't
feel any better when Lorraine said, "Please, Sparks, don't bother
Johnny when he's trying to figure this out. Go ahead, sugar-plum."
So sugar-plum went ahead, and I stalked out of the room. I went to
my own turret and tried to read a magazine, but I couldn't get
interested in the hokey adventures of a Patrolman on Io when I was
buried alive in cosmic goo myself. So I fiddled with the dials again
for a while. No soap. So pretty soon I got up and looked in my
auxiliary cabinet. My Ampie was curled in inside, pale blue and shot
full of tiny red sparks, sucking contentedly on an old-flashlight
battery. I put on my rubber gloves. I went down to the engine loft.
Ampies live on energy. And Larkin had said the gelatinous mass
engulfing us was at least partially composed of energy. Which made
what I did seem, to me, quite logical. I pressed the button that
extends the lug-sails of a freighter, heard the machinery creak into
motion, lifted my Ampie out of its lead-foil container, and shoved it
through the widening vent. Then I waited for things to happen.
They did happen! But not what I had expected. I had expected to
see the Ampie gnaw a hole through that dough like a St. Bernard
working out on a T-bone, rare. But instead, the Ampie touched one
shimmering feeler to the mass of gray matter, hummed, sparked,
and rolled backward across the room!
I said, "Aw, damn! He was right!" and started to close the lug-vent.
But—
It wouldn't close! Because the writhing stickiness was welling into
the ship with incredible, fluid swiftness. A heavy, saccharine stench
was in the air. Gray streamers fingered toward me. I yelped,
slammed tight the engine loft door, and raced for the control turret.
In the middle of the control turret I waited for my breath to catch up
with me. Larkin spoke subconsciously from the depths of a deep
ponder. "Shh!" he said.
"Shh!" repeated Lorraine. "He's thinking."
"Then tell him to think about pancakes!" I howled. "Because there's
a shipful of gray molasses following me up the corridor!"
Larkin started. "What's that?"
I told him. "—it looked like a good idea," I finished, "only it wasn't.
Now the stuff's in, and I can't get it out again. It'll fill the whole
damned ship—"
But Cap Bowman is no dope. He had already sprung to the audio,
was barking orders to other parts of the Pegasus.
"Seal port and loft sections of the ship immediately. Lock emergency
doors! Get all men into safe sectors!"
Lorraine looked at me worriedly.
"What—what is it, Sparks?"
"Nothing much," I told her grimly, "except that I've just about killed
us all. That stuff will ooze through every crack and crevice in the
ship, swallow everything just like it swallowed the ship. That's
probably what happened to those other explorers. There must have
been one dope like me aboard each of them. With a bright idea that
—I'm sorry, Mrs. Larkin. I've sure put the final touch on your happy
honeymoon."
She was Cap Bowman's daughter; she was the bride of Johnny
Larkin. A gal doesn't get to be both of those things without having
more innard-stuffings than a sofa-cushion. My words heaved her
back on her heels, but only for a fraction of a second. Then, smiling,
she turned to Johnny.
"We're not afraid, are we, honey? But you'll have to hurry now."
Larkin pawed his hair frantically.
"I'm doing my best. I've got all the facts. But I still can't quite
understand—"
Voices rasped in over the audio. Anderson reported from the
sleeping quarters, "All men evacuated, sir. Standing by for further
orders." MacPhee snarled defiance from the engine deck, "We've
plugged all doors, sirrr! We'll hold this position to the last posseeble
minute!"
"It's a form of carbohydrate," mused Larkin aloud. "Plastic. Semi-
fluid. But why? Why?"
"Think hard, sugar!" pleaded Lorraine. Larkin said mechanically,
"Yes, honey—" Then he stiffened. "Honey!" he said.
I groaned. "This is no time for lovey-dove talk, Johnny!" I cried.
"Keep scratching at those gray cells—"
And over the audio, the voice of super-cargo Freddy Harkness. "Am
abandoning holds, Captain. The invading—er—substance has already
covered the aft bins and is moving forward rapidly."
"Seal the safety door, Harkness—" began Bowman.
Then Larkin was at his side, suddenly frantic, eager.
"No, Skipper! Tell him to keep them open a minute! I'll be right
there. I need three men!"
He lit out for the door. Bowman cried, "No, son—come back! You'll
be killed. Come—"
But he was talking to empty air. Johnny was pounding down the
runway. Lorraine sniffed once. Then her jaw hardened. She said,
"I'm going after him."
Bowman pushed her into a chair—but hard. He said, "You're waiting
here! With us. You'll only be in his way. Johnny's the tech man on
this ship. If anybody can save us, he's the one." But as her head
lowered, his eyes met mine. And the words were written there, "Not
this time—"
Still, we had to do something. We couldn't just sit there and take it
blind. We had to know what was going on. So we cut in the visiplate
to the corridor outside the storage bins. It was a dismal scene that
appeared before us.
The long corridor was deserted save for a thin sliver of something
oozing out of an adjacent chamber. As we watched, this sliver turned
to a bulky, rolling mass; became the doughy body of the mysterious
matter in which the Pegasus was caught. Like a ponderous wave it
surged up the corridor, straining into every crack and crevice,
engulfing everything it met.
We saw a tiny, gray ship mouse scurry from under a doorway,
hesitate as one pink foot slipped into the sluggish excrescence.
It tugged, trying to get free. But it was like a fly snared on flypaper.
It couldn't move. In a few seconds it disappeared. Lorraine began
crying softly. I turned away, too sickened to condemn myself again
for having loosed this thing amongst us.
Then there were bright gleams in the visiplate, and Johnny,
accompanied by three or four not-at-all eager sailors, entered the
corridor. As he passed the visiplate, he looked up and grinned at us,
nodded encouragingly. Then he ducked into one of the storage bins.
He came out staggering under the load of a heavy, wooden crate.
He began ripping the top off this frantically, motioned his assistants
to get other similar boxes from the bin and open them. They did so,
but one look at their pans told us they didn't like this business
nohow!
Finally he had the box open. He tore out a portion of the contents.
And—
"Has he gone nuts?" raged Bowman. "That's only that medical junk
for Mars! That zy-something extract!"
Johnny made it perfectly clear what he was trying to do. He
wrenched the cap off one bottle—and deliberately poured the
contents into the nearest pseudopod of the matter now approaching
within scant feet of him. Then another bottle; tossed into the mass
this time. And another. And another.
Lorraine screamed suddenly, "Daddy, look! He's trapped! Behind
him!"
She was right. From another cross-corridor had rolled more of the
Caltechian effluvium. It formed a solid barrier through which Johnny
and his co-workers could not now escape. They could move neither
forward nor backward. In a few minutes the two sluggish tentacles
of the syrupy monster would meet. And then—
I said, "Skipper, you'd better turn off the plate."
Bowman nodded. He reached toward the button. Closer and closer,
now. In seconds the two walls of matter would coalesce. The sailors
had seen their peril. We couldn't hear their voices, but they were
apparently pleading with Johnny to let them take refuge in the one,
so far untouched, storage vault; seal that door. And he had refused.
He was forcing them to hold their ground. All four of them, like
himself, were desperately ripping corks from bottles, scattering the
medical export into the substance closing in on them.
And then one man slipped! His foot flew from under him, was avidly
seized by a tentacle of that slimy mass. His eyes and mouth opened
wide; I knew he was screaming.
Larkin stepped forward to grasp his shoulders. The skipper hoarsed,
"Look out, son! Behind you!"
It happened all at once. One minute there were two towering walls
of fleshy matter surging inexorably down upon the trapped quintet,
and the next instant—
The walls collapsed! Just like that! Collapsed into running streams of
blotched liquid scum. The sailor's leg slipped free. Johnny toppled
over backward into the slippery puddle. A foolish look spread over
his face. A look that was mirrored in the faces of his associates. His
eyes rolled. He goggled up into the visiplate, kissed his fingers to us,
and—and hiccuped! His lips formed a syllable. The syllable was,
"Wheeee!"
Bowman's shaking fingers sought his jowls. He cried, "My God, he—
he's—"
"He's what, Daddy? What?"
"He's as boiled," roared Bowman, "as an owl!"
So, folks, that was that. Oh—one thing more. I was right. That alky
odor didn't leave the ship. Don't ask me how we ever got back to
Long Island Spaceport.
They told me later we zig-zagged in by way of Mercury and Luna. I
wouldn't know. It was just one, long, delirious dream to me. I was
two weeks coming out of it.
What a headache! What a hangover! What a honeymoon!
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HONEYMOON IN
BEDLAM ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.